


Painfully

by Mawkinberd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Death Eaters, F/M, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), Witness Protection, more later on - Freeform, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29659566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawkinberd/pseuds/Mawkinberd
Summary: Hermione Granger always knew she wanted to change the world, but she never realized the roadblocks would be so dire. Now, she is trying to take her skills as a specialized healer of Cruciatus pain to survivors of domestic violence, but how can she protect them when she can't even protect herself from the pain?This will be updated sporadically and without rhyme or reason because of my own mental illness needs. Hopefully, it'll be worth the wait.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Jonquil House

Chapter 1 - Jonquil House

Pain. It had been the focus of her entire life, in a way.

Hermione wasn’t too worried about taking on more pain, at this point. She had shut out certain sources of pain, like the pain of betrayal, the hurt of close bonds broken from selfishness. She didn’t really need friends and lovers to drive her these days, although she missed some of the old friends she had pushed away. Allies at least could negotiate their work in the open, more logically. Her past pain had already written the debt she was paying with her current efforts. It didn’t really matter who she helped at this point; what mattered was that she would never lose the need to give others relief from the pain she still carried deep within.

She didn’t let her own pain stop her in her rounds of the Dai Llewellyn Ward at St. Mungo’s. She didn’t let the pain of her coworkers’ not-so-subtle disdain keep her from challenging their attitudes about new methods and methods that seemed more suited to Muggle hospitals than their own, obviously superior, magical facilities. She didn’t challenge their assumption that, as a sidekick to the Great and Noble Harry Potter, she was a flash-in-the-pan Muggleborn who received more leeway from administration than her skills merited, especially since none of it was true. She might never rise higher than a resident in the dense political peerage that sprawled ungainly around the warren of rooms and wards of magical England’s premier medical facility, but she didn’t really mind that. Her research was very narrowly focused, after all, even if it did have reasonably broad application if used correctly.

Of course, no one challenged her authority in the Janus Thickey Ward. No one expected anything earth-shattering to happen there, even for the “Brain” of the “Golden Trio.”

It was hardly surprising, then, that Augustus Pye, Head Healer of the Fourth Floor Wards (Spell Damage), found her there toward the end of her current twelve-hour shift. She was seated opposite Alice Longbottom, holding Alice’s right hand with her left as a bubble of light showed shifting colors in tendrils like tiny roots sprouting from a glowing seed. The bubble rotated slowly, swelling and retreating in a monotonous way, as tiny dark spots invaded, then faded.

“So, how is our lovely Mrs. Longbottom doing today?” Augustus said quietly, as though attempting not to startle to the two women.

Hermione smiled without looking away from Alice’s wide blue eyes. She had heard the swish of his trousers and the soft tap of his feet when he entered the ward. “She is showing some small improvement in the memory centers. She can’t quite express it yet, but she is starting to get a better idea of when Neville will arrive each week. For her to remember about how many days it takes for him to return…” She turned her smile toward him, finally catching his eye briefly before turning back to Alice. “It may not seem like much, but it helps her to know, to start to understand that he is coming back.”

Augustus nodded, understanding. “Are you scheduled to be here Sunday when Neville will be by?”

She sighed, then twitched her wand, allowing the glowing bubble of light to wink out. “Unfortunately, no. Miriam Strout is here that day, though. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to let him know.” She pulled her wand back into her sleeve and patted Alice’s held hand briefly before kissing her on the cheek and rising, pushing her chair back to its corner before walking closer to Augustus. Alice stayed in her seat but turned her head, watching her leave before she stood and shuffled back to the window to sit next to Frank, where he watched the sun rise.

Augustus watched them both for a moment before turning back to Hermione, looking at her closely. “It should be you, you know,” he said, watching the circles under her eyes. “You know Neville would want to talk to you about it.”

She stiffened a little, but she only reached back over her shoulder to rub her neck for a moment before looking back up at him. “I don’t need his gratitude to want to help his parents. He understands that.”

Augustus sighed, dropping the old argument. “I know your shift is basically up, but do you have a few minutes? I have a project to propose.”

“Sure,” she said, straightening and pressing her fist to the small of her back, stretching. “You want to go to your office?”

“Yes, please. I’ll even spot you a cuppa to tide you over until your breakfast.”

Hermione grinned at this. “Only if you promise to give me some of those digestives you have squirreled away beneath your bust of Hippocrates.”

He grinned as he turned and led the way out of the ward, past the bed where Gilderoy Lockhart was still snoring and out the ward. “I only bring out those digestives for my most honored guests,” he said with a well-bred sniff.

“Ah, no wonder I’ve only heard rumors of such delicacies,” she said in ironic tones. “Surely a Muggle-born like myself would hardly rate such a treat.”

He laughed as he strode ahead down the hall toward his office. “Oh, blood status has nothing to do with it at this time in the morning, especially right before shift change. I’m just glad to speak to anyone who’s already caffeinated and ready for business.” He thought he could hear her snort as he took a left past the last ward door and into his office. He waved negligently at the room to light the strange, crystal-like fixtures on the ceiling before walking around his miniscule metal desk and toward the small tea service he had in the corner.

Hermione followed, closing his office door with a decisive click and taking refuge in the huge, ugly leather chair he had on the side of the room with a sigh. He tapped his wand to the teapot and, with a grin, lifted his bust of Hippocrates from the filing cabinet to uncover a wooden case full of small packets of McVitie’s chocolate digestives. His treasure now in hand, he walked back around his desk to another ugly leather chair across a short table from hers and placed the tray comfortably in reach of them both. With a flourish, he opened the packet and poured the digestives out before snagging his favorite tea cup, filling it with milk before pouring his favorite Lady Grey tea. Hermione joined the ritual, putting a digestive in her mouth before pouring her own tea and wrapping it in her hands as she sank back into the seat slowly with a sigh.

“So,” Augustus said after taking a deep sip and sighing contentedly. “How do you feel your latest work is going with the Longbottoms?”

She finished crunching her biscuit and took a deep sip of tea before answering. “I’m at a bit of a stopping place currently,” she said slowly. “I’ve not gotten everything I thought I could do with the latest potion breakthrough, but I’ve been stumbling in trying to produce something more effective. I’ve almost decided I need to do something completely different, to clear my head. If I can focus more on some other cases and see how things develop with them in a longer term of care, the changes may fall into place on their own. I thought this potion was more short-acting, but the arithmancy was not entirely clear. There were some elements that simply wouldn’t work out completely.”

Augustus continued to sip his tea as he mused this information. “I had gotten the impression,” he said carefully, “that you were spending less time in Dai Llewellyn, also.”

Hermione blinked slowly. “Who told you that?”

“Smethwyck didn’t say it, but he certainly implied it.”

Her face went carefully blank. “Yes, I suppose I have been. There are fewer patients that seem to need my particular help.”

Augustus observed her carefully, noting that it looked as if her Occlumency shields were painfully perfect. “Should I speak to him about the staff?”

Her face softened a little. “Smethwyck has gone above and beyond trying to convince his staff that I am not a threat to their work. I could not ask more than that.” She deliberately took another sip of tea. “If my colleagues do not refer the nerve damage cases to me, then there’s little to be said.” She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way. “They still seem to think that less than perfect results are worse than no results at all.”

He decided to change the subject. “In that case, perhaps this is the perfect time to present you with my new project.” He leaned forward and refreshed his tea, adding more milk. “I think you will enjoy the change.”

She looked suspicious now, her eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to submit a new problem to my care, Augustus? I’d really rather continue my own research, even if I am currently at a standstill.”

“No, not at all,” he said hastily, leaning back again and taking time to sniff his tea appreciatively. “Actually, this would be more along the lines of covering Dai Llewellyn, just in a different venue. I would hardly wish to waste your talents when so many need them.”

Her eyes narrowed even more. “You’re trying to butter me up,” she accused. “Is it really that bad a project?”

He snorted softly. “You almost sound like you don’t trust me, Hermione,” he griped. “Like I would ever give you something you couldn’t handle.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to?” she said in a suddenly playful tone. “I haven’t forgotten Dame Mortimer and her ‘everlasting ache in her bottom,’ you know.”

He threw his head back and groaned. “I promise, I just wanted to finally get her past her trauma. She really is harmless, even if she is…”

“... an annoying windbag,” she finished, finally grinning. “It doesn’t help that she now always asks for me. The UnWelcome Witch just loves rubbing it in when she sees her walking through the door.”

“Yes, well,” Augustus conceded, laughing along with her after her tired joke about the Welcome Witch. “This project is nothing like that.”

She quirked her brow. “Are you going to continue to be so mysterious? I can hardly solve a case if I have to pull it out of you.”

He twitched, which made her brow go even higher. “It’s not really a case. It’s more a long-term assignment.” He took another sip of tea before finally asking, “Do you have much experience with domestic violence cases?”

She sat back, looking slightly stunned. “I’ve helped individuals with pain management in the past, when the damage was severe. Mostly, it was just a palliative until they were stuck again in the same situation. We’ve had more than usual, lately.” But you know this, she thought. She waited, watching him intently.

“I’ve been on special assignment with a newer facility that offers services to women and children who have left domestic abuse situations, but my work as head of the fourth floor wards has been taking too much of my time for me to offer what they need. I would like you to take over.”

She looked puzzled. “A different facility? Why wouldn’t they just come to St. Mungo’s?”

“The situations they have fled are often politically fraught,” he said delicately. “Coming to St. Mungo’s would in no way serve them if their spouses were allowed to come in.”

She frowned suddenly. “Purebloods?”

He nodded at her quick insight. “Mostly. Some are not, but the spouses are, almost uniformly.”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “You’re talking about Voldemort sympathizers. Or, rather, wives and children of former Death Eaters.”

“Mostly,” he admitted. “The Jonquil House doesn’t turn anyone away, but in the social circles they run and the way they let people know they have a safe haven, it makes sense.”

“Well, yes. That and the ridiculous laws about magical marriages and bonds,” she said cynically. “It makes sense when so many of them treat their wives like property.”

“Legally, after those bonds, they often are,” admitted Augustus with a sigh. “If I ever meet a witch who would put up with how I’m married to St. Mungo’s, I would never ask her to bind herself the way some of these poor witches do.”

She looked like she was trying to work out a puzzle, her eyes distant. “So, it’s a safe house for victims of domestic abuse. A newer one. I imagine they need lots of healthcare intervention.”

“Yes,” he replied. “The Directrix is adamant that they receive the best healthcare possible, and they are willing to pay St. Mungo’s well for it. Only problem is, they are unwilling to accept Healers that won’t go through their strict vetting process.”

“How strict?”

“Would you like to find out first hand?”

“You know I would be more than happy to work on such a project, Augustus. I’m sure that’s why you approached me. I can’t help but wonder, though, if a house full of wives of Death Eaters would want to have to deal with a Mudblood, no matter how talented.”

He winced. “You’d be surprised, I think,” he said. “Yes, I know that their political beliefs are problematic, but…”

“Problematic, hmm?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, problematic, but not the way you’re thinking. Remember, these women and children know that You-Know-Who was defeated, that they lost the war. But they also know that the pain in their lives comes from the same people who are spouting these beliefs. They may have given lip services, but there is a hard core of doubt that only needs the slightest nudge to have empathy for different views.”

“Oh, no. Surely you don’t mean to use me as a way to reform baby purebloods?” she said flippantly.

“Of course not,” Augustus said, suddenly sharp. “They needn’t even ask your blood status, since you’ll be there as a Healer. But even you should understand that receiving empathy from a source they have been told is despised says more than any amount of pontifications from self-important bullies.”

She settled back, sarcasm melting away. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

“Also, their security is top notch. The people who shelter there do not know the identities of the outside people who work there. Even if they suspect they know, different guises are used by most of the staff except the house elves.”

She took another sip of tea before leaning forward and putting it down. “Is this all under the table, then? How does St. Mungo’s figure into the equation?”

Augustus relaxed slightly. “The Directrix donates to the wards of the fourth floor yearly. St. Mungo’s donates time at the Jonquil House in return. We simply mark it as assignments at a different facility, same as any other.”

“That makes sense,” she allowed. She paused, looking around. “So, when are we planning this little trip?”

Augustus grinned. “You’re hooked, aren’t you? I knew your curiosity would bring you in.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Bully for you.”

He laughed, unrepentant. “We can go now, if you wish. The Directrix knew I would approach you today, so she confirmed that this morning would be a good time for a meeting.” He stood and pulled a silvery ring off his right hand. “Are you done with your tea?”

“Yes,” she said decisively. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Here, hook your arm in mine.”

She stood and wrapped her hand around his closest elbow, watching as he turned his ring, squinting at the runes engraved on each facet. “Wait, we’re not apparating?”

He pinched his fingers around one of the outer facets of his ring and smiled. “No, security requires a portkey. Jonquil House!” And with that, they both felt the familiar hook behind their navels and twisted away into oblivion.

~

They winked back into existence in a light, airy gazebo on the edge of a natural park. The early morning sun was winking through the higher boughs of the surrounding forest over their heads, barely dappling the top of the grey timbers of the open style roof above them. Though the woods were thick to the north and west of them, the trees elsewhere were tastefully dotted across the lawn in a deliberately artless fashion, drawing the eye down the pebbled path from the gazebo toward what looked like a grand old house in a Spanish style. The early spring chill had dotted the air with a faint mist and beaded across little clumps and lush lawns of tiny yellow flowers, standing with unusual spikes of green leaves pushing from the ground among the flower heads. 

Hermione breathed deeply, then pulled slightly closer to Augustus with a shiver. She briefly longed for her cloak in the chill. Augustus watched her closely, enjoying watching her impressions wash across her face as she tried to fit what she knew with what she was seeing. Finally, she drew up into her own space and pulled her sleeves across her arms and crossed her arms around her abdomen. “So, are we still in England? I’ve never seen these flowers growing so thickly before now.”

Augustus smiled. “They’re native to Spain, but the Directrix is fond of them. That’s why it’s Jonquil House, incidentally. I don’t believe anywhere else in England is so suited for growing them, but they’re hearty enough, even without a little magic.”

She cleared her throat. “So, shall we? I’d like to get into the warm. My tea won’t last long in this chill.”

Augustus bowed briefly, then offered his arm once more. As she took it, he turned and led her down the pebbled path toward the grand manse. As they passed more of the trees, the sprawling house came more clearly into view. Though it was surrounded by the wooded areas, the two-story collection of buildings was obviously meant to be viewed from many angles. It was a bit ostentatious, even with the off-white stucco and red clay tiles that clearly marked the Spanish influence in its building. Still, the seemingly random porticos connecting wings of rooms and short, white walls of small private yards had a comfortable, homey look, as though even though there were so many close by, there were still places built from privacy and comfort. It seemed to nicely balance communal living with privacy and dignity. The beds of yellow flowers bloomed around in different shapes, looking random at first, but later appearing to be pictures, like the moon and stars, or fantastic magical beasts, or sometimes runes.

The front entrance, though, was as grand and ostentatious as it should be. The traditional black fountain was nestled in a large circular brick porch, approached by two broad staircases that swept in mirror images around the circular wall at its base. The front was timbered with ancient, dark wood and went to a grand four stories, topped with a curved tower for a large, brass bell. The weather vane at the top was crowned, not with a rooster or a dragon, but a stylized jonquil, staying preternaturally still in the quiet morning air. The early sun barely glinted off its enameled surface.

Augustus allowed her the silence to observe, remembering his first visit here. It was a lot to take in, especially for someone with connections as fraught to the magical world as Hermione. It was sometimes difficult, even for a pureblood like him, to reconcile the grand beauty of the homes with the painful reality of their owners. Knowing that the Directrix had the power and backing to front this enterprise in such a style brought up many difficult emotions, including the knowledge that she probably knew many of this place’s inhabitants from her painful past. She might think she was beyond showing most of her anxiety and helplessness at her pointed exclusion from Britain’s “high society” after the war, but she had trained in Legilimency and Occlumency with him over the years. He knew more of what was beyond her shields than anyone else could claim, even if they weren’t really friends. Hermione was far too self-contained for such a luxury. She saved her empathy for her patients.

His ruminations over her introduction to Jonquil House came to an abrupt end when he realized they had finally reached the front door. She reached forward and grabbed one of the twin iron knockers on the paired portals and let it loose, allowing a loud thud in the quiet air. Almost instantly, a tiny old house elf opened the door slowly, her tea towel a gleaming white and having a tiny green and yellow flower embroidered above the lower right hem. She immediately bowed.

“Healer Pye, Healer Granger,” she said in a squeaky voice. “The Directrix is expecting you. You is following me to her study now.” She bowed again and, with a snap of her fingers, she closed the door in their wake as they followed her across the pale ivory tiles through the entrance hall and down the carpeted passage to the right. Hermione barely caught a peek through the huge bay windows across from the front portal at a beautiful outdoor terrace before they were swept to the right again into a large, comfortable study. An enormous teak desk divided one half of the room from the other, seeming to shelter a tiny, straight-backed woman from any who entered. The other side of the room held comfortable settees around a tall, tiled fireplace, fronted with a plush, forest green rug. The woman came around the desk and toward them at their entrance, putting her hand forth imperiously toward Augustus. He smiled, seeming unsurprised, and pulled loose from Hermione’s arm before taking the lady’s hand and kissing above her knuckles as he bowed. She curtseyed slightly.

“Augustus,” she said in a quiet soprano. “It has been longer than I have expected since I last saw you.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, looking a bit guilty. “I warned you my time had been curtailed unfortunately of late.”

“Indeed,” she said, seeming gentilely put out. “I hope that your proposed solution will help us keep up with the misfortunes we have faced here lately.” She turned to Hermione, looking coolly at her without reaching forward. “This is Healer Granger, yes?”

“Yes, my lady,” Hermione answered before Augustus could interrupt. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” She paused, looking momentarily nonplussed. “I must apologize, but Augustus did not mention your name.”

“Nor should he,” the Directrix answered bluntly. “I am glamoured at present, as well. It would be unwise to play with the safety of the inhabitants of Jonquil House by bruiting about details of who is involved.” She sniffed slightly, her hands now clasped in front of her. “If this is unacceptable to you, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave before more details are given.”

“No,” said Hermione slowly, digesting this. “No, I rather prefer that to be the case. I would prefer the safety of these women and their children. I am just surprised at the level of care that seems to have gone into this requirement.”

The Directrix seemed to release her breath. “I am glad we are of like mind on this matter. My head of Security would be displeased if it were otherwise.” She gestured to the settee in front of the low fire, seeming to remember her duties as hostess. “Please, won’t you have a seat?”

Augustus took Hermione’s arm again and swept her around the loveseat, allowing her space to sit separately, further from the lady. The Directrix took a small, delicate chair covered in a tapestry of endless fields of tiny, yellow flowers. I think I’m seeing a theme, here, Hermione thought ironically. I wonder if her own spouse doesn’t allow her to keep so many jonquils at her regular home.

“I understand you have some interest in nerve pain, Healer Granger,” the Directrix continued, going straight to the point. “Is there a reason for this specialty?”

Hermione took a deep breath before answering. “I wanted to find solutions for people who suffered from the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse,” she said. “After the war, there were many, including myself, who still suffered. I have since found many other applications for this same research, but it was the root of my initial interest.”

“How apropos,” murmured the Directrix. “I wager you understand that Cruciatus is a major issue with many of our residents.”

Hermione’s heart seemed to tremble in her chest. “It did not occur to me, no,” she said. “Are you saying that these abusers were using Unforgivables on their families?”

“Of course,” the Directrix answered calmly. “It would not do to have something so Muggle as fisticuffs when their wives disobeyed or their children were naughty. And who would pursue them for Unforgivables in their own homes?”

Hermione was suddenly blinded with insight. She turned to Augustus in anger. “This is why you wanted more training six months ago. This is why you wanted to get more insight into how the scarring patterns affected the neurological profiles of that rash of pain victims we had around that time.”

“Yes,” said Augustus. “St. Mungo’s got a few of them, but their husbands came and retrieved them shortly after that. A few of them, though, escaped here.”

“And that is why we need you here,” interjected the Directrix smoothly. “Augustus is an excellent Healer, compassionate and gentle. But these ladies need an expert. Besides, it is sometimes easier for a woman to truly accept healing from a woman’s touch.”

“It also doesn’t hurt that you have the perfect background for therapy, as well,” said Augustus. “Many of these women need to hear that they are not at fault for the pain before they can release it, but therapists are too maligned in wizarding society for most of them to trust. Plus, as you have learned over the years, seeing an outside expert agree with loved ones does wonders for what a patient will accept.”

“So, I’ll be an undercover therapist as well as a NeuroHealer,” said Hermione matter-of-factly. “Sounds about right.”

“Most therapists do not have a thorough enough grounding in Occlumency and Legilimency to really understand what they are facing with the victims of domestic abuse anyway,” pointed out the Directrix candidly. “These people have been teethed on these techniques, and they would never trust their innermost thoughts and longings to someone who did not understand the constraints and discipline of mind magic. Plus, advice from that perspective will not seem to be therapy to them.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione said. “Have you any idea how often you would want me to work here? What the hours would entail?”

“Your shifts would mainly be here, Hermione,” said Augustus. “It’s not like you need more than a couple hours daily in Janus Thickey right now, and you will have plenty to occupy you here.” He looked uncomfortable briefly. “I’ll understand if that sounds like too big an investment, but the truth is, they really need you here, and they want you.”

“Indeed, Healer Granger,” added the Directrix. “Your reputation precedes you. I am fully aware of your history, and my head of Security recommended you highly, as well. We have faith in your abilities and trust in your judgment.”

Wow, that’s different, thought Hermione. I can’t even get that respect at a place I’ve worked and innovated for years. “Your head of Security?” she said curiously. “Augustus did not mention his name, either.”

“He could not do so, Miss Granger, since he is unaware of my name. You may refer to me as Mr. Russ, as do our guests.” Hermione turned, startled at the interruption. A tall, slender man with his brown hair pulled back into a black ribbon had entered the room behind them. His somber brown attire seemed to pull the morning light to him, the golden chain from his pocket watch twinkling briefly from his vest pocket. He looked and sounded familiar, but before she could understand the tickling in the back of her brain that hinted at an answer, it faded. He continued as he walked around the settee and settled in a leather chair across from the Directrix’s seat. “The safety of our guests is our highest priority, and we will not betray the trust they have given us.” He arched a bushy eyebrow in her direction as he watched her face, unblinking. “I presume that is acceptable?”

“Indeed,” Hermione answered with a sigh. “I would hardly feel right about working with a facility like this if that were not the first priority. Although, I am surprised that someone I do not know would feel the need to recommend me for the position.” She hoped he would take the bait.

Mr. Russ crossed his legs at the knee and brushed an invisible lint from the leg of his trousers before he answered. “One need not know you personally to know your reputation, Miss Granger. Besides, I would not be much of a security detail if I could not investigate the truth of your doings rather than trusting such tripe as is printed in the Daily Prophet or other such drivel.”

Augustus seemed to twitch at her side before finally speaking. “So, are we agreed, then? Healer Granger will spend eight to ten of her twelve hour shifts here daily, helping with the Healing needs of your residents.”

“We’d also like to have you on call for emergencies, Miss Granger, if that is acceptable,” Mr. Russ interjected smoothly. “Our guests often need special care at intake, for instance, and that can happen suddenly and without warning. We make every attempt to help with safety at… extraction,” he added, obviously gritting his teeth at the term, “but rarely are we able to get away without some difficulty.”

The Directrix cleared her throat lightly, getting their attention. “I want you to know, Healer Granger, that we are prepared to give you unprecedented access to the lives of our residents because we believe you to be worthy of that trust. Also, we think that, based on the progress Augustus has made here with your methods, that you could make a real difference in the quality of their lives. I can promise you that we will hold you in the highest regard and are aware that having access to your care is a great honor, for us and our residents.”

Hermione took a deep breath, considering. They were being remarkably open with her, considering the lack of respect she had across the medical community at large. While this respect was seductive, it was also suspicious. “I am a bit overwhelmed with your offer right now, Madam Directrix,” she said politely. “It seems like a dream come true, having the opportunity to do so much good for this community. However, I am tired at the end of my shift, and I do not want to make a decision without giving it the serious consideration it deserves. How may I contact you, once I have decided?”

Augustus spoke unexpectedly. “We really didn’t expect you to make your decision today, Hermione,” he said. “We just wanted to make sure to let you know as much as we could before you had committed. As much as we need you, there are still a few details to work out, such as working hours, how we shall inform St. Mungo’s, transportation issues, things like that.”

“Indeed,” answered Mr. Russ, his smooth baritone dry as dust. The tingle of awareness briefly touched Hermione again. “We don’t expect you to solve the world’s issues before you break your fast. Perhaps we could expect your answer in two days' time to Augustus?”

“That seems quite reasonable,” agreed the Directrix quietly. “We want you here as soon as possible, but it would be unwise to rush in before you were sure of your commitment.”

Mr. Russ continued. “Do you have any other questions for us before you depart?”

“How many people will I be treating?”

“That depends on the time. We do relocate the families when it is feasible. However, we currently have 15 women and their 21 children.” He shifted a little. “There are legal issues that we must navigate to find them new homes successfully.”

“I see,” said Hermione, nodding. “So, I would have my own glamour and name set up?”

“We thought Healer Beaucoeur would be appropriate,” said the Directrix smoothly. “I understand you speak French fluently, and several of our residents do, as well. If they think you are of French origin, it gives an additional layer of anonymity.”

“Anything else?” rumbled Mr. Russ after a moment.

“I don’t think so,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “If I think of anything, I’ll let Augustus know.”

Augustus stood then, bowing politely to the director. “In that case, I should take Hermione back to St. Mungo’s. She’s had a long shift, and we should leave before the day properly begins here.”

Hermione stood afterward, surprised at his abruptness. “Of course.” She walked in front of Augustus, reaching for the small, slim hand of the Directrix. “Madam Directrix, it was a pleasure to meet you and hear about the wonderful things you are accomplishing here. Regardless of what choice I make, I hold you in the highest esteem for offering such a service to people who need it so desperately.”

She looks surprised, Hermione noted, as the Directrix reached for her hand in turn. “I thank you kindly, Healer Granger,” she said gravely. “I am only glad I have the means to offer succour to these poor women and their families. Their needs have been neglected far too long.”

“And you, Mr. Russ,” Hermione added as she turned in his direction, her hand out in farewell. “Your wards are impressive, sir. I don’t know what I did to impress you so greatly, but I am honored to make your acquaintance. Thank you for the trust you have placed in my care.”

His eyebrow quirked again as he took her hand, and, instead of shaking, he leaned over and ghosted a kiss over her knuckle before standing again. “Thank you, Miss Granger,” he said softly. Hermione turned back toward Augustus in time to see him dropping the Directrix’s hand and turning to shake hands with Mr. Russ before pulling her hand back behind his elbow again and heading once more for the office door. She followed his lead quietly as he headed back to the front door and out again beside the large fountain until he stopped and grabbed for his ring once again.

“We have to portkey out, as well?” she said in surprise.

“Of course,” he said in a distracted way. “Anti-Apparition wards are critical to their security here. I don’t even think the Directrix has access to Apparate here, although Mr. Russ probably does.”

Hermione mulled over his words distractedly, thinking so hard, she didn’t even notice he had his ring clutched in his hand once more before the familiar hook pulled behind her navel once more and whisked her away, back to St. Mungo’s.

~

“Do you think she’ll accept?” the Directrix asked as they heard the distant thump of the front portal closing.

“Of course she will,” his voice rumbled, obviously still a bit tired from the early hour. “She has matured dramatically over the years, but that is more because of her changed circumstances than her own decisions. It might have been a surprise that she would be working with the families of former Death Eaters, but she was the only one of the Golden Trio who didn’t have the prejudices pounded into her from the start. She’s not likely to assume we’re all murderers and sadists like others might,” he drawled ironically.

“Perhaps not,” she allowed. “Still, we really do need her expertise desperately.”

“Narcissa, things will fall as they will,” he said flatly. “We’ve made our offer. There’s nothing else we can do at this point. There’s no reason to fiddle your fingers over it like a Hufflepuff. We have work to do, regardless.”

“Of course, Russ,” she said lightly, not at all angry at his little slight. “Do you think Draco was able to converse with Mrs. Goyle by now?”

“I think he would have made sure to do so,” answered Russ. “He’s been very worried about her and Mr. Goyle, so I don’t think he will set it aside until he is satisfied.”

“I truly hope so,” Narcissa sighed. “I will make sure her room is ready, regardless. Be sure to send word to Minerva that we will need a new house elf. We are becoming short on help, with the addition of the Selwyn twins.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, slowly standing before bowing in her direction. “A pleasant morning to you, Narcissa.”

“And to you, Russ,” answered Narcissa gently as he turned and strode from the room, his robes billowing in his wake. “And hopefully we’ll have your Miss Granger here before you know it,” she added in an undertone.


	2. Peaseblossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione thinks about her decision to work at Jonquil House and gets an unexpected but welcome visitor.

Chapter 2

Hermione was not the type of woman to flutter. She thought it a sign of a disorganized and helpless mind, and she would not admit to either failing. She liked to think that, even coming cold into a situation, she could assess quickly and precisely what needed doing and accomplish it with minimal effort. Grace, she thought, was using the least resources needed to accomplish goals, and that was reason enough to pursue it, even if it normally seemed a rather sexist compliment. It took hard work and constant effort and was therefore only attainable by someone who was the intense opposite of inept. She hoped to lead her life with grace, regardless of the pain that she had to push through to attain it. 

There were a number of things that bothered her about her meeting that morning, and she was at a bit of a loss on how to quantify all the factors to understand what was worrying her. She was old enough now to trust her judgment, enough to know better than to jump in feet first just because the concept behind the place was worthy on its own. Her responsibilities now were too time-consuming for her to have the luxury of throwing herself wholeheartedly into the next crusade without question. Sighing in frustration, she performed a quick Tergeo on her Healer robes as she stepped away from her fireplace and automatically closed her floo to incoming callers. Turning, she stepped into the kitchen in her small flat, opening her fridge and pulling out some eggs. A petulant mew interrupted her activity, and she turned to see a tiny black-and-white tuxedo cat sitting on the table, staring at her like a Sphinx as the tip of his tail thumped restlessly.

“Good morning, Peaseblossom,” she said with a smile, reaching out and scratching between his ears lovingly. His tail continued to twitch, as though unconvinced of her sincerity. “Had a pleasant evening? Any tales to share this morning?” Seeming to relent, the cat moved forward enough to butt against her hand briefly before tumbling to the floor and walking toward the open fridge. “Ah, hunting not gone so well, then. What shall it be this morning, tuna or liver? I had tried to get a few shrimp, but the offerings were slim yesterday.” The cat nudged the drawer and turned regally toward his plate, as though allowing her to serve him. She grinned, opening the drawer and withdrawing the packet of tuna, cancelling the stasis charm and placing it in front of him. After sniffing delicately, as though evaluating her work, he began to eat, finally seating and curling his tail around his hindquarters.

Hermione grinned at his grudging approval and bent back to gathering her eggs and placing the carton next to the stove. She was tired, but she always felt her eggs were better if she boiled them properly rather than instantaneously. She knew it would hurt Molly Weasley’s motherly soul if she ever knew it, but Hermione had always preferred her own mother’s cooking when it came to breakfast foods. She would probably have changed her mind if she had to cook for a small army, but since she didn’t, she’d enjoy the luxury. Funny, how doing things the Muggle way seemed a luxury sometimes.

Her thoughts turned back to Augustus as she set the water to boil and turned to the breadbox. He had seemed rather nervous as they left Jonquil House, and that had, in turn, set off a couple of alarms in her mind. He had seemed totally confident, she realized, prior to the entrance of Mr. Russ into the situation. She leaned against the counter, thinking hard. What did Augustus know about Mr. Russ? It was also obviously a surprise that she had been recommended to the Directrix by Mr. Russ. She had thought Augustus had recommended her initially. Augustus was as determined and driven as she was, so it was unusual for him to not know all the details of a situation. Should it concern her that he was obviously not part of all the negotiations?

Peaseblossom nudged her ankle, breaking her concentration. She sighed and took her toast from the toaster and put it on the plate, followed by her eggs. Grabbing the orange marmalade from the fridge, she turned back toward the table and closed the fridge door with her hip. Peaseblossom followed her to the table and jumped in front of the other seat and began to wash. Hermione grinned before starting to smear the marmalade on her toast and washing it down with a bit of milk. Perhaps a little more food in her would help her corral her flashes of misgivings into actual information she could use.

Unfortunately, breakfast with Peaseblossom was only enough for her to feel as though she had missed an important aspect of the morning that would be critical in her decision. She sighed as she put the last clean dish back into the cupboard before throwing her tea towel at the counter and groaning. It was a good thing she was off today. She needed to do the shopping, and Peaseblossom could use a good run around the park across the way. This was London, so at least most of the people here would refrain from giving her odd looks for bringing her cat to the park with a leash. Peaseblossom, like Crookshanks before him, had enough Kneazle in him to understand the constraints of Muggle city living and put up with the indignity, since he obviously felt it was worth it to play in the quaint little area they lived. Nevertheless, Hermione was always careful to give him the choice of when to go and how long they would stay. Even Kneazles deserved dignity, especially considering their intellectual abilities. Decided, she rose and headed for the shower, determined to go ahead and make a morning of it. Perhaps some fresh air was exactly what she needed to clear her head.

~

Peaseblossom was ready with his retractable leash as Hermione walked into her living area, wearing her favorite old jeans and a light jumper with her bright neon green trainers. Peaseblossom knew the drill, so he jumped into her arms as she lifted the leash handle and stepped out the door. He didn’t enjoy the lift, so he allowed her to carry him down as they rode, his tail lashing vigorously. When the door to the lift opened at the first floor, he immediately jumped down and ran toward the doorman, who was standing by the front entrance and staring out the front through the plate glass windows. With a hard headbutt, Peaseblossom wound his tiny body between his legs and mewed enthusiastically.

“Easy Peasey!” shouted the young man. He lifted his leg over the leash now twined around him and leaned down to fetch the enthusiastic feline into his arms. “How’s my favorite kitten, eh?” Peaseblossom flexed his front claws into his uniform and purred loudly, butting him hard in the chin.

Hermione smiled, amused. Peaseblossom was finicky in a lot of ways, just as Crookshanks had been, but he adored the young Muggle. “Hello, Simon. How are things this morning?”

“Great, Ms. G!” the young man said happily, scratching Peaseblossom gently on the chin as she turned toward him. “I didn’t know you were home already!”

“Just back,” she said, smiling easily. “I’ve been back on night shift lately. Figured Peaseblossom and I needed some veg, and we’re going to the park after.”

“Oh, I know he’ll love that, then,” he answered, grinning. Simon had often taken Peaseblossom to the park himself for Hermione, claiming he was the only “pet sitter” she would ever need. Luckily, Peaseblossom seemed to agree. “I do have a message for you, though. Hang on a bit…” Turning to his kiosk next to the doorway, he bent down and pulled out a piece of notepaper. “Oh, yeah. A bloke named Harry Potter dropped by to see you last night. He said he’d come again and see you this morning, if you were in.”

Hermione was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t spoken to Harry in almost two years, at this point. “He didn’t say anything else, did he?”

“No, ‘fraid not,” said Simon easily, laying the note back on the kiosk. “Is he alright? I mean, if he comes by when you’re here, should I send him up?”

“Yes, he’s an old friend,” she said, keeping her sigh completely internal. Simon had a bit of a crush on her, so he liked to act protective when men should come around. Not that it happens that often, though, she thought. “He didn’t mention a time or anything, did he?”

“No, not that, either. I could send him toward the park if he drops by.”

“Yeah, that’ll probably be fine. I’m only going briefly to the stand at the end of the lane, then Peaseblossom and I will be enjoying this lovely spring weather.”

“That’s alright, then,” he said, turning his attention back to Peaseblossom. “You’re not gonna cause trouble for your mum today, are you sir? You’ll be an Easy Peasy till you get your outing, right, mate?” Peaseblossom purred at him in a determined way.

Hermione laughed, then gently lifted Peaseblossom from his arms. “No worries, Simon. I think Peaseblossom knows he will miss out on his favorite treats if he’s too naughty.”

Simon grinned. “Alright, then. Off you go, you two.”

“Thanks. Hope your morning is uneventful.”

“Same to you, Ms. G!” He gave her an enthusiastic wave, chucked Peaseblossom under the chin, and then grandly opened the door to let them out.

The sun had come into its own by this time, warming the air enough to make her jumper comfortable as she strolled down the broad sidewalk. She loved living in this part of London. Sure, there was quite a bit of noise, but her neighbors were friendly, and the crowds were big enough to keep one anonymous but still small enough to allow intimacy at times. Even for Muggle women, this part of town was generally quite safe, and the shopping was close enough to make walking comfortable rather than a hassle. People in the area loved to let their children oooh and aaah over Peaseblossom when they passed, and there was no need to push and shove at the corners. While she thought she might enjoy living in the country, she thought it would be lonely on her own there. She just felt energized living here. It gave her enough company when she was away from work to not feel the lack, most of the time.

Most of the time, she thought a little glumly.

She didn’t have long to feel glum, though, as she approached her favorite stand at the end of the street. The proprietors, a married Pakistani couple called the Chowdurys, waved as soon as they saw her come toward them.

“Hermione!” shouted the lady, her arms wide in greeting. “It has been too long! How are you and your little kitten today?”

“Doing lovely, Soraya. How are you this morning?” Peaseblossom took off from her arms up to her shoulder as she drew closer to the woman, giving a brief hug and kisses to each cheek.

“Tolerable, I suppose. This weather is bringing out the people, at least. I’m especially glad it brings you!” she teased, briefly scratching Peaseblossom on the head before stepping back again. “And how is the hospital treating you? You look like you haven’t seen the sun in quite some time.”

“You know, you’re right,” Hermione admitted as she pulled out her netted bag and looped it around her arm. “I’ve gotten to where I have absolutely nothing green in my flat. You’d think I knew nothing about nutrition.”

Soraya grinned. “Surely you can find enough green for you here. We wouldn’t want you to be a bad example to your patients.” She turned and went around the stand, seeming to look about. “We have some nice watercress and chard over here, if you’d like some. Got a nice set of green beans, too.”

“Any corn? I have some black beans, thought it might make a nice cold salad with some lemon.”

Soraya started walking around behind the stand and pulling out produce. Before long, Hermione’s bag was reasonably full. Soraya’s husband turned toward them both as another customer left and, grinning, waved at Hermione again. “Thought to say hello, eh? Soraya’s been wondering if you found another stand to adopt.”

Hermione laughed as she pulled out her wallet. “As if I could abandon you, Ali. Your stand has the freshest veg this part of London.”

“All of London, I would think. My brothers have the best connections,” he replied, grinning. “Did you see the chard?”

“Yes, and Soraya’s getting me some corn right now.”

Ali walked a bit closer to her and started talking in a lower tone. “I never got the chance to thank you. I know you say it’s nothing, but Soraya’s pain has been much relieved from your tonic.”

Hermione shrugged. “I am glad it worked, Ali. You both work so hard out here, in all weather. I’m glad to do what little I can.”

Ali nodded seriously. “You underestimate how much good you do in this neighborhood, you know. Just yesterday, Simon said that Miss Dunwoody down the way swears no one would have ever noticed she was sick before you came ‘round. And little Jessica Treadworth swears Peaseblossom saved her daughter’s life the other day when that rat tried to attack her.”

Hermione smiled fondly, thinking of little Ruth. “Peaseblossom is a wonderful mouser. I’m glad he was able to help her, but I swear, Ruth would love him even if he never lifted another paw.” Peaseblossom paused in cleaning his paws to sneeze at her ear for that remark.

Ali laughed. “You have the right of it,” he said. “Even so, you know if you ever need anything, we’re here for you.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I know, Ali. You and Soraya are the best. And your stand is tolerable, too.”

Ali laughed loudly. “Only tolerable? I may have to charge you more for that corn next time!”

Soraya walked up and pushed three ears of corn into Hermione’s hand. “Charge more? Do you want to drive our customers away, husband? We have a reputation to uphold!”

Hermione laughed along with them. “Alright, you two. See you again in a couple days. I’m headed to the park.”

The Chowdurys laughed as they turned back, helping other customers. Hermione pulled an apple from her bag and headed back toward her building and the park. Peaseblossom came back down to her arms, seeking a steadier perch now that she was moving. Hermione felt lonely suddenly. She loved her Muggle neighbors, and they seemed to have adopted her into their lives, but she felt so divorced from them. She could never share her true abilities with them, so it left her without someone as a true confidante. She shook her head, feeling a little dazed. Where is this coming from? she thought, a bit surprised. I’m not usually this negative. Or this lonely.

She was thinking so hard, she didn’t notice that she’d made it to the park until she almost ran into her favorite bench, set in a spot next to a tree near the fountain in the center of the small park. She hung her bag on the corner of the bench and sat, letting Peaseblossom loose of his leash. He gave a good stretch and, with a happy chirp, leapt out of her lap and up the oak, looking almost like a black squirrel in his enthusiasm. She began to munch on her apple absently as she tried to empty her mind. No use dwelling, she told herself sternly. I made my choices, and this is my life. Sure, things could be different, but I would never have been so successful in my research if I had not worked so hard. The help I’m giving is worth a little loneliness now and then. She deliberately relaxed in the warming morning sun and breathed, letting out the night’s confusion and frustrations.

She must have been dozing slightly to not notice at first, but when she opened her eyes, Harry Potter was sitting next to her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped, staring across the fountain toward a collection of mismatched playground equipment, covered with small children. She studied him for a few moments, enjoying her relaxation while it lasted. He had left a good three feet of painted wood between them, presumably so he wouldn’t disturb her. He hadn’t really changed much. He would always be short, but he looked sturdy in his worn jeans and Muggle jacket. She wondered if he missed having his children as small as those across the way. He did look to be a bit nostalgic. She cleared her throat to get his attention.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said quietly, leaning back again and looking her way. “You look great.”

She smiled shyly. “Not looking too bad yourself, Harry. How’s Ginny and the kids?”

“Growing,” he said, giving a faint smile. “All three are at Hogwarts now, you know. Lily started this year. It’s driving Ginny mad, although at least she wasn’t sorted to Slytherin like Albus.”

“Really?” She grinned. “You’d best keep an eye on Albus, though. He might go making friends with a Malfoy, next.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, actually, his best mate is Scorpius Malfoy. You know, Draco and Astoria’s kid?”

She couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. “I’ll bet Draco enjoyed that, when he found out. Does he try to go to Malfoy Manor over the Christmas hols?”

“Worse,” said Harry with a groan. “Scorpius came and stayed a few days with us. Having Draco floo in was the most awkward thing. At least Grimmauld Place is big enough that we didn’t have to hear any complaints.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, Scorpius is a great kid. He doesn’t seem to be spoiled much at all, just quiet. He and Albus get along like a house afire, which is weird to see after watching him and James fight like puppies all the time. And of course everyone loves Lily, so we don’t worry about her friends so much.”

Hermione smiled nostalgically. This was more comfortable than she had anticipated. “What does Ginny think of all this?”

“She’s just glad someone understands Albus. He’s always been the misfit in the family, and it’s high time he should have friends that appreciate him. He and James are too different, and even though he loves Lily, it’s more like worshipping his sister than relating to her.” He turned toward her and crossed his legs at the knee, his foot pointing toward her. “How are things for you? Still working for St. Mungo’s, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve been making good progress with recurring Cruciatus damage. The Longbottoms are making good progress.”

Harry smiled at that, then looked away. “We’d love to have you by for dinner sometime, Hermione. It’s been too long, and Ginny misses your talks.” He sighed, looking down for a moment. “Hell, I miss our talks. I promise we won’t invite Ron or anything.”

Hermione crossed her arms. She knew this would come up, but she still felt a pang in her chest. “I’m not angry at Ronald, you know. It was a long time ago, and it was the right thing to do, no matter how painful. I imagine he’s much happier with Susan, anyway.” She paused, trying to find her bravery. “Have they… I mean to say, do they have any…?”

“Any more children?” Harry said. “Yeah. Rose is already four, as you know. Little Hugo is sixteen months old. Ron swears he’s going to get him a baby broom any day now, but Susan is keeping him in line so far.”

Hermione giggled a little breathlessly. “Someone’s got to keep him in line, to be sure.” She looked away, trying to hide the tears she couldn’t bite down.

Harry sighed. “I respect you too much to fight your decision to stay away, Hermione. I promise, I didn’t come to try to dig up the past.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Hermione. You’re my sister in all but blood, and I hate seeing you hurt like this.”

She deliberately pulled up her Occlumency shields and breathed slowly for a few moments before turning to look him in the eye. “It really is better this way,” she said firmly. “I do miss you all, but I’m making good progress. The more I can help others…”

“Yes, but what about helping yourself? Hermione, you deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy,” she said calmly, trying to make him believe. “I love my life right now. I’m starting a new assignment soon, and I’ll be able to help even more people with my personal research. It’s a great way to continue to improve our world after all the horrid things Voldemort left behind.”

“Alright, Hermione,” he said, looking a little sad as he turned his gaze back toward the children across the way. “I didn’t think I would change your mind, love. I just want you to know that I’m always here, should you need me.”

Hermione smiled gently. “I always know that.” She scooted closer to him on the bench so she could nudge his shoulder with hers before turning to watch the children with him in a companionable way. After a moment, she turned back to him. “If you didn’t come to change my mind, did you have a message or something? You could have asked for me at St. Mungo’s.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to leave you a message and make you worry, but there’s things coming up that you need to know about. Strange rumblings in the Wizengamot. I’m worried about you being here without any wizarding help nearby.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Over the last year, there have been some strange abductions and missing persons,” he said, looking grim. “The cases are mostly cold at this point, but there have been a rash of pureblood women and children disappearing without a trace. That in itself doesn’t concern me, though. What’s really troublesome is that some are found, but we never hear about them again.”

Hermione turned cold in her seat. “What do you mean, you never hear about them? If they’re found, they’re safe, right?”

“That’s what you would think,” Harry said, “but I can’t say that it looks suspicious. We have a few Aurors that run in pureblood circles, and they say it’s the way things have always been done, but it just doesn’t sit right. If the women were rescued, then why can’t we follow up?”

“Maybe they’re just being overprotective, after all that.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. That’s what everyone else thinks, anyway.” He didn’t look convinced. “In any case, they never mentioned any demands for money or anything like that. It just doesn’t add up.” He turned to look her in the eye. “I’m concerned what their real agenda is, whoever is leading this. And I’m even more concerned by the families’ responses. There are whispers that something might be happening, but the pieces just don’t fit.”

She had to fight to let him keep her eyes. “I know you’ll be able to figure it out. In the meantime, I promise that I’ll be careful. My security is as strong as ever.”

“Have you spent some time dueling? I don’t want you to get caught out.”

She shrugged. “I still keep it up, at least a couple hours of the week. St. Mungo’s workout space isn’t as good as the Auror’s, but it’s decent.”

He nodded reluctantly. “If it starts getting worse, I’ll let you know. I can’t just leave you here undefended.”

She gave a grin. “Hey, I was the one to always defend you, remember? I’m still pretty good at what I do.”

He gave it up with a soft laugh. “You’re too right, Hermione. Anyone should know better than to bother you. Just… just take care of yourself. For us. We all love you, no matter what.”

She felt an unwilling tightness in her throat. “You know what? I love you, too.” She reached over and gave him a half hug. “And I really would like to catch up some more. What do you say you and Ginny come by next weekend? I’ll make dinner.”

He grinned, bouncing slightly on his seat. “We would love to. I’ll bring the wine.”

She laughed. “If you’re sure about that.”

“Sure as I can be,” he said lightly. He jumped to his feet and grabbed her right arm, pulling her up so he could wrap her in a bear hug. “Just let me know before then if you want us to bring anything else. Say, Saturday at 6?”

“Perfect,” she said, squeezing him back. She pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “I think you’re right. It’s time I started reaching out again. I’m just sorry it’s taken this long.”

Harry’s face softened. “We’re here, no matter how long it takes.” He glanced over toward the small children across the way again, grinning like a kid himself. “We’ll be sure to bring a special gift for Peaseblossom.”

“I wouldn’t count on him warming up to you just for a treat.”

“That’s alright. I’ll have a chance to grow on him,” he laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

“Take care, Harry,” she said, watching as he turned and went back toward the street. She sat and watched as he turned toward the closest alley and walked out of sight.

It is time, she thought. There’s no reason to keep my distance anymore. Sure, I enjoy my life now, but if I really am getting lonely, I deserve to look for more. She turned toward the tree and made a clicking noise to get Peaseblossom’s attention. After a moment, he shot down the tree and toward her, jumping into her lap with a short stick that had apparently snagged his interest. Smiling, she refastened his leash and stood, carrying him in her arms as he chewed, making tiny growling noises under his breath. It had been a long time since she’d acted so much on impulse, but it made her feel young, like new opportunities were on her way. If she was beginning to feel lonely, it only made sense to try to fix it. Her small smile stayed with her as she walked away from the park and back toward home. After such a long shift, a good nap was in order.


	3. New Glamours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione decides to work at Jonquil House and gets a new look.

Chapter 3 - New Glamours

Hermione’s weekend wasn’t nearly long enough for her to get all the rest she needed, especially since she had already planned to go back to the day shift the following week. Unfortunately, thinking over her prospects as Healer at Jonquil House had taken over her imagination and allowed little mental rest. She had tried for a long time to ignore the hateful snubs she had gotten at St. Mungo’s, but it was difficult to ignore when she thought of how much better the respect could be at Jonquil House. Surely, if they needed her skills half as much as they had hinted, they would treat her with the respect those skills deserved. She wondered, too, if she had ever met the Directrix before that morning with Augustus. There was really very little way to know. Her voice was unfamiliar, and the charms disguising her were well cast. Besides that, she was really more intrigued with Mr. Russ. She had never known a man that looked anything like him previously, but there was something familiar in his voice. His accent, perhaps? Maybe the way he hung his words together? There wasn’t any way to know for sure, but she felt reminded of something, something that wouldn’t come clear in her mind. Perhaps it would be a fine mystery for her to solve as she helped those poor families that had been torn apart by violence.

The biggest issue, she realized after thinking over the process, was less about how she would be treated and more about how the clients who lived there were treated. It was incredibly difficult to help women who had faced domestic violence, and they were in far more danger of injury and death once they had left their abusers. How did they save these women from a horrible fate? Magic only made the danger sharper, and that wasn’t even accounting for the dark magic that many of the older pureblood families accessed with inherited trinkets and long-forgotten records of blood magic. If the Directrix didn’t have an effective means of prevention, there could be tragedies that needed averting. She didn’t feel comfortable being a Healer and ignoring that vital part of the Healing process.

Still, she was fairly well satisfied, by the morning of her next shift, with her tentative decision to accept their invitation to be Healer in their establishment. Tentative, only because she really wanted another word with Augustus and to discuss more specifics about the process as a whole. Unless something really was very different than had been portrayed, she was excited to be starting something that would be doing so much good for a very vulnerable part of the wizarding world.

She was unsurprised, then, to see Augustus waiting for her, his office door wide open in welcome as he completed paperwork on his desk. Shift change was still making the halls busy with shuffling feet and moving doors, so he merely waved his hand to summon her inside. With the door closed, the automatic Silencio cleared the space of the low hum of busyness and allowed her to relax her shoulders a bit. Augustus moved from behind his desk back to his comfortable sitting area chair and released a sigh. She smiled a little and joined him across the tea tray, reaching for the already steeping pot.

“Coming on, or taking off?” she said easily as she grabbed her tea.

An automatic huff of a sigh left him as he reached for his own tea. “Taking off, but I have plenty of time to speak to you about Jonquil House before we go visit, if you’re still interested.”

“Thanks, Augustus. I appreciate that,” she said. “I hate to cut into your morning, though.”

“No, the night was slow, so I’m not too tired, for a change,” he lied smoothly, then broadly winked. “But really, I don’t mind. I want to get the situation at Jonquil House settled. That will help my overcrowded schedule more than a little extra sleep.”

“Ah, so you do get something out of this arrangement,” she teased, swirling her tea slightly. “I knew there had to be something in it for you.”

“But of course,” he said, smirking. “Don’t think that I ever will overcome my mercenary tendencies just because I don’t get coin for my efforts.”

She laughed outright at that. “Prat,” she tossed out lightly.

He smiled contentedly and turned his attention to his tea. “Have you thought properly about it?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know me too well to think that it wouldn’t be an alluring prospect. If everything is handled the way it looked, I would be honored to take part in it, but…”

“But?”

“I have a few questions about other aspects of the business, and I want your take on the situation. I know you want me to make this my own, and I know that you wouldn’t have volunteered my services unless you thought it was a good place to work and a good cause to support, but I got the impression that you were a little surprised about a few things, and that concerned me a bit.”

“You’re relentless, you know that?” he said mildly. “Should have gone into interrogation at the Ministry for the Aurors. I should have known you would have caught that bit.”

“What was it, Augustus? Really, it almost seemed like you had never met Mr. Russ.”

“I hadn’t,” he said. “The Directrix was the only one of the administration I had contacted previously. She had told me about her security director, but she had not mentioned his name or anything else about him.”

“He seemed a decent enough fellow.”

“Yes, he did. And, like you said then, his wards are top notch. Not only unobtrusive, but also quite powerful and layered. He is obviously amazingingly talented with that branch of magic.”

“So what are your concerns?” she said. “It would seem the Directrix has deep pockets, so it’s not surprising that she should have the best on staff.”

“I don’t think you understand just how extraordinary his abilities are,” he said, a sudden hush to his tone. “I’ve never mentioned this before, but wards are a particular strength for me, as well. And it’s been very helpful with caring for patients over the years, helping to ensure that my magic and theirs and the wards at St. Mungo’s don’t cause problems in an unexpected way. I think it was that more than my abilities as a Healer that led administration to choose me to head this department so early in my career.”

“So, what bothered you about his wards?”

“I have made a hobby over the years of following the work of other witches and wizards and their styles of wards. Different families tend to have different specialties, and learning from the work of others has enriched my work tremendously. Before I had met Mr. Russ, I had assumed that the ward work at Jonquil House was the work of a team of wizards. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“What? I had rather guessed the same, about the wards being several wizards’ work, simply because of the complexity.”

“I just have a hunch. Once we met him, I could recognize more of his signature on the surrounding areas. And something about how they are put together reminds me of someone he couldn’t possibly be. And if this man had students on those arts… Well, let’s just say that it would be a startling discovery.”

She mulled over this for a moment, smelling her cooling tea and thinking. “Is it a problem? Do you think that Mr. Russ is a danger to the facility or to us?”

“Actually, no,” he said slowly. “That really wasn’t… If there is a connection to the person I thought, there is no reason to worry. He was always loyal to a fault, if a bit abrasive. It just gave me a little more food for thought about who he and the Directrix are, and I have a feeling that is dangerous knowledge right now.”

“Right,” she said. Augustus won’t share his suspicions, but I’ll probably be better placed to learn more if I’m directly involved, anyway. “Well, if that’s the case, my only other concern was how they place the families out later. Starting new lives afterward would be dangerous.”

Augustus gave a knowing smile. “They have an elite network of families on the Continent who are happy to find homes and communities to support the witches and their children in Europe, if they aren’t able to find families here that will uphold them. Even if they aren’t able to annul or dissolve the marriages, there are still places where they can be safe and start over.” He leaned toward her and pointed at her with his tea cup. “You just want to be more involved on that end of it, don’t you.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I couldn’t see getting involved with a group that didn’t have a good follow-up plan. What would be the point? And if they aren’t effective, then I have research skills I can offer.”

Augustus leaned back, grinning. “I know you would love to be the advocate. You always are. In this situation, though, it’s not necessary. I helped vet some of their relocation groups before I was willing to work with them. They definitely know what they’re doing there.” He sighed. “The only real shortcomings they have are about counseling, which I’m hoping will be relieved by having your Healing experience. These ladies really need help relearning healthy relationships and self-worth. Or, in many cases, learning them for the first time.”

She felt a warm bubble growing in her chest at the words. It was funny how much it helped her own self-worth to feel needed. “I trust your judgement, Augustus. If I am needed this much, then I am more than willing to accept the position. When will I start?”

He leaned forward again and put down his tea cup on the table, and she followed suit. To her surprise, he rose, offering her his hand. As she stood, she reached out back for him. Taking her hand, he shook it warmly, clasping hers between both of his as he smiled. “This really means a lot to me, Hermione. I didn’t want to unduly influence you in your decision, but I believe that you will be making a huge and necessary contribution.” He hesitated, then allowed her hand to fall from his. “I have a personal interest other than working there, you see.” He looked at his feet. “My youngest cousin was one of the first clients of Jonquil House, right when it first started. You’ve never met her, so you wouldn’t know. She has started over in Luxembourg, and she’s making so much progress. I’ve never been more moved than when I saw her eyes light up the first time I visited her after the relocation. It was like turning back time to when she was my little pest, following me around and delighting in everything.” He took a deep breath. “I had watched that joy dwindle and die without feeling like I could do anything, and the Directrix gave her a chance to regain herself when no one else would give her that hope. I will always give as much help as I can.”

Hermione smiled. “Augustus?” she said gently. He finally looked up from his feet into her eyes and seemed to relax a bit. “I have always respected your acumen and compassion as a Healer. You can trust me to help in any way I can.”

She could sense his relief as he smiled. Now that she knew how much this meant to him, she had no doubt that this would be a cause to which she could dedicate herself wholeheartedly. As he removed his ring from his hand once more and reached for her hand before activating the portkey, she felt excitement growing in the pit of her stomach before the familiar hook pulled below her navel and away to Jonquil House.

~

Nothing seemed to have changed about the Directrix as they entered her study in the early morning light. Hermione now had a better understanding of the dynamic between the formidable lady and her boss, so the stilted, pureblood greeting didn’t cause her to miss the deep respect the two had for one another. This time, as she gestured them to be seated on the couch, the tiny house elf that answered the door bustled in with a tea tray, which she placed carefully on the table in front of the fireplace. After the Directrix had attended to her duties as hostess and everyone had sipped and complemented their tea, she began to speak.

“I expect you have questions, Healer Granger,” she said, looking polite but wholly inscrutable. “I will do my best to answer them.”

Hermione smiled. “After speaking with Healer Pye, my questions are mostly procedural in nature,” she said. “Perhaps it is the residual Gryffindor in me, but I do tend to jump in immediately when a project captures my interest as much as your enterprise.”

The Directrix quirked an eyebrow. “Far be it from me to disapprove of your passion for helping those in need,” she said, seeming faintly amused at Hermione’s deprecating answer. “Perhaps my demeanor is reserved, but my own belief in this project is not.”

Hermione took her approval as an invitation. “How do you know what women wish to use this service? I admit, with the complexity of the wards you have here, I find it difficult to understand how they come here, much less hear about it.”

“Oh, the salons of the pureblood families must continue on as planned,” she drawled, looking mischievous. “Appearances must be protected, and tradition. We just started a new tradition for our own advantage. The tradition of gifts for protegés, to be precise.”

“How does it work?”

“Any one of our involved witches gives a miniscule gift that can be used as a portkey if they are in danger. Of course, doing so could be deadly if the aggressive parties get suspicious, so we started a new trend. Tell me, Healer Granger, have you heard about the new fashion of charm bracelets?”

Hermione blinked, surprised. “Yes, I have. I don’t have a broad range of friends who collect, but I know several mediwitches and healers who do.”

“The only proper way to fill your charm bracelet is to have charms gifted by people you admire and love,” said the Directrix simply. “So, should someone offer you a tiny silver or platinum charm, it is merely a way to show favor, nothing more. Unless you grasp a certain flower charm and say the words ‘safe house,’ in which you and whomever you are holding at that time is portkeyed into our intake area.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. It was so simple, so perfect. “I am impressed,” she said frankly. “It was not an option that had occurred to me.”

The Directrix gave a small smile. “One would need to be well acquainted with pureblood circles to see the possibilities, I think. And I doubt that you would have never found another solution, regardless.”

Hermione almost blushed at the compliment. “I’m guessing, since Augustus has a ring instead, that it is a different form of the same strategy.”

“Indeed, it is. It is a far more complex and valuable tool, though. Mr. Russ has found a way to charm the ring to several different portkey locations, depending on which rune is covered by the user’s finger. For instance, to arrive as a guest to the garden as you did, one would cover the Berkana rune. There are also runes there for inside the front doors in case of inclement weather, the entrance to the Infirmary, and to the intake area for emergencies. If you had quarters here for some reason, you could also have that keyed into the ring.”

“Brilliant,” said Hermione breathlessly. “I’ve never heard of a portkey that could go to several locations previously.”

“Mr. Russ is a real treasure to our organization,” said the Directrix, a little smugly. “We would not be nearly so safe here, were it not for his ingenuity and skill.”

“I have another question that is unrelated,” Hermione admitted after a moment. “If you have researched my past endeavors, you may have noticed that I was involved in legal affairs at the Ministry for a few years before I began my Healer training.”

The Directrix inclined her head. “We are aware of your skills in those areas, yes.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Would I have an opportunity to assist in those sort of issues, if you didn’t have a greater need for my Healing skills?”

The Directrix smiled suddenly. “I had wondered if that would interest you,” she said, looking kind for the first time. “We actually have an excellent staff of people who deal in those areas, but there’s no reason you couldn’t take a tour of their work at some point. I believe Mr. Russ had said he expected you to be interested in all aspects of how these families are protected, rather than solely your own focus.”

“He almost seems to know me better than I know myself,” Hermione muttered half to herself.

“Indeed,” added the Directrix, sounding amused. “He tends to notice more than most. Luckily, it is a very useful thing for us here.”

Augustus suddenly yawned, politely covering his mouth. “I must apologize, ladies, but it’s been a long day for me already. Is there any other way I may serve you before I retire home for the morning?”

Hermione glanced back at the Directrix before shaking her head. “I believe it would be good to begin acclimating myself to my new assignment, with my lady’s permission.”

The Directrix inclined her head at them both. “I had hoped you would be ready to do so. We can do a tour and set up your portkey ring with Mr. Russ before introducing you to the Infirmary. I have a feeling we can cope with these tasks without your assistance, Healer Pye.”

Augustus chuckled. “I had thought you both would be ready to start as soon as possible. In that case, I will be off.” He rose, stepping toward the Directrix and taking her hand as she rose. “My lady, I will see you again later this week.”

She smiled benevolently as he nodded over her knuckles with a brief kiss. “Healer Pye, it has been a pleasure, as always. May you enjoy your day.”

“Hermione, you don’t need to worry about going to the hospital directly except for your scheduled hours with your patients in Janus Thickey. I look forward to hearing how your first week goes here.”

“Of course, Augustus. Get some rest, and I’ll fill you in Friday.”

~

Hermione had to struggle a bit to keep from feeling overawed at the details of Jonquil House. Once Augustus had taken his leave, she had thought the Directrix would have shown her directly to the Infirmary, not worrying about the daily lives of the witches and children that lived there. Instead, the pair had taken a short tour of the main house, which was divided in four major wings, connected by halls that surrounded the graceful patio and fountain she had seen inside the main entrance. The first wing, which was adjacent to the Directrix’s office, she referred to as the Home Wing, which contained suites for each of those employed at the facility.

“There are ten mediwitches, two solicitors, and Mr. Russ who have temporary or permanent accommodations here,” the Directrix said, waving her hand graciously around the tastefully decorated halls. “If there comes a time when you would find it more convenient to stay here overnight for various purposes, we can assign a suite for your use, as well. Also, any house elves we have that prefer not to reside with their assigned families or are more dedicated to grounds maintenance reside here, as well.”

“So, each of the families have particular house elves dedicated to their care?”

“We found it made the families far more comfortable when they didn’t have to see different house elves every day. The more familiar they became with one another, the faster their health progressed. Also, we encourage the house elves to claim a family permanently, if they choose to do so.”

“Claim a family?” Hermione said, surprised. “I knew families had house elves, but I don’t know what the claiming process is.”

“Traditionally, house elves pledge themselves to a home, and their children continue to do so down the family line,” the Directrix replied. “House elves usually do not choose to claim a particular person, but rather the family. If they pledge to a family and that family moves, they move with them. If they pledge to a home, they usually stay with the home, although that is a very rare occurrence.”

“Then, how does that work with Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, surprised. “They seem to have a huge amount of elves there.”

“When a house elf loses their pledged home or family, they will often be adopted by another place, like Hogwarts. Hogwarts has been a popular option for years, because elves love to stay busy, and Hogwarts is always busy.”

Hermione laughed at that thought. “Yes, there is certainly enough to keep anyone happily buried in work.”

The Directrix nodded regally as she led Hermione across the front foyer, away from the Home Wing. “Indeed,” she agreed lightly. “It helps, too, that elves can sometimes find new families there, by bonding to students. It doesn’t happen often anymore, but Hogwarts elves do have the freedom to move on and bond to another.”

Hermione mulled over this as they entered the Admin Wing, which was full of offices, libraries, and records. “Here, we take care of the financial and legal business of the House. My son is the Chief over this area, since his expertise is in business administration. Since he is not able to be here full-time, he has several accountants, secretaries, and a liaison to Gringotts here to keep things running while he is away. I trust him with the final decisions, however.”

“So, in many ways, Jonquil House is a family affair,” Hermione said musingly.

“Yes,” admitted the Directrix, glancing a brief look at Hermione as she moved on. “Mr. Russ is not related by blood, but he is also considered family here. The Head Mediwitch is also an old family friend and, incidentally, one of the first women we were lucky enough to remove from a terrible situation. Almost everyone who works here is related to us or was once looking for help.”

“Even the secretarial positions?” she said, surprised. “I would think you would need a bit more security for that.”

“All of the secretarial staff are volunteers from people who lived here,” the Directrix said calmly. “They usually volunteer when they see a need, since everyone is quite involved as more clients come to us. Everyone works together for everyone’s good. We are careful, though, to ask for witch’s oaths once people move on, for safety’s sake. No one has ever objected.”

“I can understand, then, how Augustus became involved,” said Hermione, compassion stirring inside her for his pain.

“I know that Augustus thinks highly of you,” the Directrix said, surprising Hermione with her bluntness. “I know you are not terribly close, but he feels you are very much his spiritual protegé. It did not surprise me that you were the first he recommended to help us, nor that Mr. Russ agreed.”

Hermione nodded. “I admire Augustus, respect him in a way I do few of the other Healers. He is an incredible and compassionate Healer and a good man.”

“It is good that people honor him as he should be,” said the Directrix. “He is a good man, well worthy of that respect.” She turned down another hall and stopped in front of the last door on that wing. “And here is our first stop. We must settle your chosen glamour and get your portkey ring situated before I take you to the more public wings.” She knocked briskly at the simple dark wood of the door.

“Enter,” said a deep voice.

The Directrix opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Hermione to walk by before closing the door behind them. Mr. Russ was seated at a desk similar in size and color to the one the Directrix claimed in her office, but there the likeness ended. Instead of the ornate scrollwork and bare surface, his desk was covered with boxes and piled with pieces of parchment, quills, ink bottles, and various books in short piles. There seemed to be a sense of order around it despite the crowded nature of that surface, as if he had habitual spots for each of his chosen tools. The back wall was covered in windows that went almost floor to ceiling, showing another view of the smaller cottages that were a part of the estate, dotted with trees, lawns, and more flowerbeds. The side walls, though, were covered with mahogany shelves that practically groaned with books. Instead of lines of matching leather bindings and gold leaf stamps, there were books of all shapes and sizes, all colors and states of repair. Hermione couldn’t quite make out any titles, so she couldn’t tell how the books were organized, but it was clearly eclectic and well-used. She lost her train of thought as she started to walk toward the nearer shelves as though in a trance, when the Directrix cleared her throat. She jumped guiltily.

“I had heard that you were quite fond of books. It’s nice to know that my sources were correct,” drawled Mr. Russ. Her eyes shot in his direction. “I could be persuaded to allow you to borrow some of my library at another time, if you choose to do so.”

“That is very kind of you, sir,” Hermione said, relieved to fall back on formality, unsure of how much he was teasing her for her lack of decorum.

“Russ, have you completed keying Healer Granger’s portkey ring?” said the Directrix as she moved to one of the seats before his desk and settled lightly.

“Of course, my lady,” he said softly. “We need only to add her home location and the content of her glamour.”

“Oh, the glamour is also spelled into the ring? How convenient!” Hermione perked up as she moved toward the other chair. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but that sounds much safer.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Russ. “Not all of our staff are equally talented witches and wizards, so having the spells keyed to the ring ensure continuity.” He paused for a moment, looking at Hermione closely. “Do you have a preference for the glamour you should wear?”

“Not really,” she said, taken aback. “I suppose the more simple and plain, the better. It would not do to have anyone recognize me, and I’m not concerned about being attractive for my patients.”

Mr. Russ’s thick eyebrow raised significantly. “Will it not suit a lady’s pride to have some trait, some noticeable beauty for others to remember?”

Hermione laughed at the thought. “I’ve always been the plain bookworm. No one who was ever involved with me chose me for my beauty.” She smiled a little. “I’d much rather be helpful and useful than decorative, at any rate.”

The Directrix snorted. “If only we could convince more women to be so nonchalant about their attractability. It might make life a little less fraught for the ladies.”

Mr. Russ gave her a somewhat reproving look. “I will not remind you, my lady, of the many times in the past I’ve been asked an opinion about a particular drape of a cloak, or the color of a hair ornament, or the sparkle of the eye.”

To Hermione’s surprise, the Directrix actually laughed. “Ah, Russ. You always help me puncture my vanity when I need it most. Clearly, you are a prince among men.”

He returned her wit with a subtle bow. “At your service, as always, my lady.”

Hermione smiled at their repartee. “Would you prefer me to set a glamour, or did you have something already in mind?”

“I have a generic one already set that we can modify,” he said, standing and handing her a silver ring with several flat sides. “Grasp the Perthro rune with your thumb and say ‘Beaucoeur,’ your nom de guerre for this enterprise.”

Hermione reached forward, palm upward. He dropped the ring on her palm and stepped back, gesturing with his wand to summon a small hand mirror from a shelf behind him. Looking curiously, Hermione turned the ring around until she found the flat facet that had the box-like rune on it. Smiling at the choice, she grasped it and said, “Beaucoeur.” Mr. Russ handed her the hand mirror.

She looked completely average, as far as she could tell. She seemed slightly taller, and her hair was a more uniform brown and far less curly. Her nose was a little larger and her lips a little thinner, and her skin tone was a darker tan than she normally saw in the summer. She looked more Middle Eastern than African, even with the darker skin tone. It wasn’t a bad look, but she would definitely not stand out in a crowd. The only thing that remained the same were her eyes, huge honeyed irises with golden flecks. She looked at the Directrix uncertainly. “Does this look different enough? I’m afraid someone may recognize me, since my eyes are unchanged.”

“Perhaps smaller eyes, with a darker brown, Russ? Other than her hair, it is her exceptional eyes that might be recognizable. Also, her voice is such a rich alto, very noticable. Perhaps a bit higher and thinner?”

Mr. Russ seemed to clear his throat before answering. “Yes, I believe you are correct. Straighter hair would also make a difference, I think.” He waved his wand once more, aiming at the ring rather than the Healer.

Hermione peered back in the mirror. Her face was completely unrecognizable now. Her hair was about the same length as it had been, but it was much finer and straighter. She’d still have to pull it back during work, she realized. Her eyes, though, were completely different. Once the shape was changed and the color muted to a darker chocolate, they looked like a stranger’s. “I think this will work,” she said, feeling a slight shock at her higher voice. “I feel no sense of recognition here.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Russ. “As for the portkeys, would you like to include your home as one of the destination runes? There are several extra that would work for that purpose.” He stretched his open palm toward her.

“Yes, that would be helpful,” Hermione said, handing the ring back to him at his mute invitation. “What are the other destinations?”

“Berkana is the rune that brings you to the gazebo, as you have come for your first two visits,” Mr. Russ said, turning the ring as he gestured. “Othila will be the rune for your home, Laguz will bring you to the Infirmary, Ingwaz for the intake area, and Algiz for the front entrance, in case of inclement weather.” 

“This is really amazing spellwork,” Hermione said as she watched him tap his wand to the Othila, followed by the Perthro. “Is this a spell of your own design?”

“Mostly,” Mr. Russ replied, seeming reluctant to answer as he placed the ring back in her palm. “Using a charm bracelet for various locations wouldn’t be appropriate for the men who work here, and it seemed a wise precaution to have something other than a charm bracelet for all the workers who have outside contact on a regular basis.”

“Why would that be?”

“Think, Miss Granger,” chided his deep voice smoothly. “If you have never previously worn this sort of fashion, what would people ask if they saw you wear one today? You don’t have the friends that would give such a gift as this, so it would look suspicious. Also, it is not safe to practice Healing with charms dangling around your fingers.”

She narrowly avoided slapping her forehead in frustration. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

His thin lips gave a slight smirk at this. “Of course, this is a lot of information to take in at once. I wouldn’t think you would have given the amount of time we have dedicated to making this enterprise over the last couple of years.”

“I’ll try to be quicker on the uptake next time, then,” she said, an answering smile on her face at his answer. She felt a slight twist in her stomach as his eyes bored into hers.

“In that case, I will refer to you as Miss Beaucoeur, in an effort to keep from confusing the plot.” He bowed slightly. “Ladies.”

“My thanks, Russ,” the Directrix said. “Healer Beaucoeur, shall we continue our tour?”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. It was time to meet the patients. “I would be honored.”

~

The Infirmary was as modern as a new Muggle hospital and as comfortable as a four-star hotel. It did everything that needed to be done, as far as keeping everything clean, well-lit, and easy to access, but it had hundreds of tiny special touches that added to the comfort of both patients and Healers. The beds were easily modified so any portion of the patient could be reached, but they were also comfortable and dressed with incredibly soft sheets and pillows for all different preferences. Magic made it simple for the mediwitches and house elves to respond to any needs, without sacrificing anyone’s privacy, and the food was heavenly.

But all these things were nothing compared to the thought and preparation that went into the intake section of the ward.

Hermione couldn’t keep from letting her mouth fall open as they stepped into a broad, open area. The diffuse lighting from crystal structures similar to those in St. Mungo’s kept things from glaring, but it also made it easy to see everything in the field of work. There were several areas, each prepared for a particular type of treatment, all centered around what was obviously meant to be the place where the portkeys would bring the new patients. The largest area was devoted to treating the Cruciatus curse, including beds with soft rails to allow seizing without adding more pain, as well as specialized restraints and doses of the most common potions needed. Next to it, a series of beds with all types of wraps, specialized medicine for bruising, broken bones, and other physical trauma were easily reached. In another corner, a specially-covered screen easily pulled back to show an area most suited to sexual trauma, with all the tools necessary but placed discreetly so as not to cause further trauma. As the Directrix dispassionately pointed out the features of each space, Hermione could hardly hold in her awe and inspiration at seeing a place that catered so well to any need for the witches who came here. Bring in the right personnel, and she knew that this was the best place for someone fleeing domestic violence to seek healing.

The Directrix seemed to see her emotional response to having such a space and allowed her to take her time and look without any extra input. Hermione was just looking over the selection of vials in the Cruciatus center when the main entrance between the intake ward and the longer term care ward flew open, letting in a tall, dark witch wearing crisp, white robes.

“Directrix, we didn’t realize you would be inspecting the ward today…” she started, before stopping mid-stride as she noticed Hermione. She blinked, looking surprised, and then looked back at the Directrix, as though waiting for orders.

“It’s alright, Millicent,” the Directrix said coolly. “We were just preparing to seek you out. This is our new Healer, nerve expert Dr. Beaucoeur. Dr. Beaucoeur, this is Millicent Bulstrode, our head of Mediwitches.”

Hermione stared a moment before reaching out a polite hand to greet Millicent. “I am honored to meet you,” she said, occluding as hard as she could. “If the organization in this ward is typical, then I must give you my highest compliments.”

Millicent stepped forward and accepted her hand, giving it a short, hard shake. “Thank you, Healer Beaucoeur,” she said with a stern look. “Should any of the wards not meet your approval, I will be happy to make it right. These families deserve the best possible care and help.”

“I don’t think Millicent would mind my telling you, Healer, that she was one of the first medical staff here. Everything that has been made here, all the arrangements, were created to her and Healer Pye’s specifications. Perhaps it sounds cliché, but this facility has been a labour of love for both of them.”

“I believe I can see that,” said Hermione slowly. She remembered that Millicent was another who was participating because of personal experience, and she wondered how many others here were people she knew previously. “How many mediwitches are on staff currently?”

“We employ 12 mediwitches and 10 house elves exclusively for the Infirmary,” Millicent stated, lifting her chin with pride. “Ten of the mediwitches, including myself, live here in Jonquil House. All that live here were either previous patients of Jonquil House who volunteered to train to help others or were here from the beginning because of friends or family who sought refuge here.”

“I would like to point out,” interrupted the Directrix, “that staff who live here often do not wear glamours, although we do allow them to do so if they choose. Any staff who do not live here or who are often out of Jonquil House in the public do use glamours, though.”

“Yes. We take the safety of everyone here seriously. The people who chose to stay here in a working capacity for their post-refuge placement often have no need to be in public anymore, so it works just as well for them as moving to the Continent,” Millicent added. 

“It all sounds rather complex,” said Hermione slowly.

Millicent nodded. “It can be overwhelming at first, but every protocol we have in place first takes into account the privacy of everyone involved. For instance, it is only the Directrix and Mr. Russ that know the identities of everyone here. Very few know who the Directrix is, and I think I’m correct in saying only the Directrix knows Mr. Russ?” she added with a sly grin toward the Directrix.

She seemed unruffled when she replied, “Perhaps some of you have an inkling of who Russ is, but it has not been confirmed.”

Millicent smiled unexpectedly. “We all think highly of Mr. Russ. His work here is the only reason we are able to keep this place out of the Daily Prophet, and we are well aware of it.”

Hermione smiled back. “In that case, I will leave my suspicions at rest. A wise Healer knows that one must always respect Security, the house elves, and the mediwitches most, because they make the ward work as it should.”

Millicent laughed heartily. “Oh, Healer Beaucoeur. If only more male Healers understood that as well as the female Healers, the medical world would be a better place.”

The Directrix smiled placidly. “I think you will both work well together, with that sort of attitude. I am pleased that this looks like it will work well.” She flicked her wand, and a Tempus spell showed the time before them all before disappearing. “Healer Beaucoeur, I would love to show you more of the Infirmary, but I have an urgent meeting with our business manager shortly. Do you have any other questions for me?”

Hermione blinked. “I think I would like to work with Mediwitch Bulstrode, to get an idea of the routines and protocols here. I would be happy to approach you with any other questions another time.”

The Directrix smiled and took her hand lightly. “I would like for you and I to meet again at the end of each week with Mr. Russ to discuss any other details you may have and see how your first week continues. Until then, please let Millicent know if there is any other information you need.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I know you wish to get involved in other aspects of Jonquil House, but I think learning the Infirmary and getting to know staff will be enough for the first week.”

Hermione smiled in answer. “Thank you so much, Directrix. I appreciate your taking time for the tour, and I’ll look forward to speaking to you in five days time.”

“Healer Beaucoeur, Mediwitch Bulstrode,” the Directrix said, and then she swirled away as she clasped a charm on her bracelet.

Millicent sighed. “In case you’re wondering, if I have met you previously, I do not know it,” she said. “It can be a little odd, when you meet someone in glamour, and you don’t know if you are acquainted or not.”

Hermione nodded. “We are close in age and were at Hogwarts at the same time, but we did not know one another personally,” she offered.

“Ah, so not a Slytherin,” Millicent answered, a smirk on her face. “It’s alright,” she added, when she saw Hermione’s face blank at the comment. “None of us here are that worried about Houses or blood purity anymore, not after what we’ve faced. It’s all in the past now. Anyway, I hope we weren’t at odds or anything, but even if we were, that’s in the past. My only focus here is my patients, and I hope that’s true for you, too.”

“It is,” Hermione said warmly. “In that case, our relationship begins today. I am honored to work with you, and I can’t wait to see what other wonders you have prepared for the patients.”

“In that case, Healer Beaucoeur, let’s tour the ward,” Millicent said. “I think you’re going to like what we have here.”

“Wonderful,” agreed Hermione. “Could we start with the Potions area? I have a few newer therapies that you may not find familiar.”

~

Mr. Russ was seated at his desk reading some parchment when a firm knock came, followed immediately by the door flying open. He looked up, one eyebrow raised sardonically. A tall, slender man with white blond hair paced in at speed. Tossing the door closed behind him, he swept toward the seats in front of the desk and sank into one, holding his robes down behind him as he sat, then leaning back, his right elbow sinking into the arm. “Sir,” he said politely, nodding his head.

“Draco,” Russ drawled, dropping his parchment and looking him over. “In a hurry this morning, were you?”

“Hardly,” Draco said. “I only have two more meetings before lunch. Today was really not a good day to choose to bring in Granger. What’s the rush?”

“Miss Granger is a highly skilled professional,” Russ stated calmly as he picked up the parchment again and pretended to ignore Draco as he read. “We are incredibly fortunate that someone of her experience and expertise is willing to work for our organization. How she changes our schedule is hardly something with which to quibble.”

“Ha!” said Draco suddenly, leaning forward and pointing toward Mr. Russ. “I knew you were the one who recommended her! Mother couldn’t fool me with that ‘it was all Augustus’ idea’ nonsense.”

Russ sighed deeply and dropped the parchment once more. “Really, Draco, I am not interested in your theories. If your mother tells you something, you may take it as rede.”

Draco leaned back. “Is it because of the life debt? She never knew about that.”

Russ’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you think you know, Draco, but you are incorrect. I have had no contact with Miss Granger since the war. She certainly doesn’t know that her help was enough to keep me alive until your mother found me.” He turned and reached for a quill from the side of his desk. “She’ll never find out, either,” he added in an undertone.

Draco’s retort was interrupted with another knock at the door. “Enter!” said Russ imperiously.

The Directrix opened the door and walked to the seat next to Draco. “Hello, dear,” she said as Draco rose, leaning toward him as he gave her a peck on the cheek and gestured as though helping her to her seat. “The glamour went well, Russ,” she added as she turned back toward the desk. “Millicent has no idea of her identity. I don’t understand, though, why you didn’t change her eyes and voice at the beginning. I know most people only notice her hair, but those two details are very distinctive.”

Draco leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the knees. “He was saving his favorite traits of hers, obviously. It wouldn’t do to take away the only details that make her attractive.”

Russ glared at Draco for a moment before ignoring him and turning back to the Directrix. “Does she care for the Infirmary?”

She smiled smugly at his question. “I think she would live in it, were that possible. She was quite taken with the details. I suspect Millicent will be overrun with questions for the rest of the day.”

Draco snorted. “Of course she loves it. It is perfection. We would hardly leave it half-done.”

“You can’t take Malfoy pride in it, Draco,” said Russ, sneering a little. “That is the difficulty when you keep your affairs a secret.”

“She’ll figure it out before too long,” retorted Draco. “I can’t hide from her forever, no matter how rarely I work here. We would probably do better just to go ahead and let her in on it, before she figures it out and gets offended by the whole thing.”

“I believe you misjudge her, my Dragon,” Narcissa said. “She already knows that someone wealthy that she probably knows has funded the place. No matter your quarrels in your younger days, I believe she will still dedicate herself to this cause.”

“You’re probably right, Mother,” Draco sighed. “So much for hoping for a good argument, though.”

“Oh, I suspect she could still do that quite easily,” Russ added quietly. “She’s matured, but she is still Miss Granger. Nothing can change that.”

“Indeed,” Narcissa said. “But, unless you have found any reason for this not working, Draco, I’m far more interested in other things.”

“Of course,” Draco said, sighing. “Unfortunately, it is not good.”

Russ suddenly looked more alert. “Mrs. Goyle?”

Draco looked down. “She won’t speak to me. She has the portkey charm, but she keeps close to Greg whenever we are near. We may have to approach them covertly soon. I’m worried about their son Gerald. I haven’t seen him in public in months.”

Russ cleared his throat. “I believe I still have floo access there. Goyle never seems to remember to amend his wards. We could go, say, Saturday evening, late, if she does not respond before then. We can at least make sure that the child is alright, even if Tracey is not ready to commit.”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Perhaps if she sees that we’re willing to help, she’ll be more open to the possibility.”

“In that case, I’ll be ready for you Saturday,” replied Russ. “Shall we have dinner here?”

“Astoria is in Tokyo until next week,” Draco replied. “I wouldn’t mind eating with others rather than hiding in my office.”

“In that case,” Narcissa said smoothly, “I’ll have us dinner at six on Saturday in the Home wing. It’s been far too long since we’ve enjoyed a family meal.”

Draco rose from his seat, followed by his mother. “Mother, let me know if you need more assistance with the Mungo’s paperwork,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’m sure Malcolm has it in hand, but you never know with bureaucracy.” He dipped his head, kissing her knuckles before turning back to Russ and nodding. “Until Saturday.” He turned and walked toward the door.

“Draco?” Russ said. Draco stopped and looked back. “Let me know if you hear more about the other matter we had spoken of previously. I am still concerned.”

Draco nodded, then swept away again, the door closing again with a hard thud. Narcissa sighed and sat in her seat once more. “I had hoped that he would bring Astoria. We could use more women who are younger, to reach more people.”

Russ shrugged. “I trust Draco’s judgment in this,” he said firmly. “If he has a reason to worry about it, it’s worth taking the extra time to be sure. We’ve far more to lose than gain if she doesn’t approve.”

“I know, Russ.” She hesitated. “We’ve come close to betrayal more times than I want to admit, and yet, I have this feeling that we need to be ready for something big. This is happening so much faster than I had expected a year ago. Why the sudden interest in the subjugation of the women and children? This wasn’t even so common a focus in the days of the Dark Lord as it is now.”

“That is precisely why I am willing to wait, if Draco has misgivings,” Russ’s voice rumbled, deeper than usual. “I am no Seer, but it doesn’t take one to see that things are progressing in a malevolent direction. It won’t be long before matters become truly dangerous, if these difficulties continue at the same rate.”

“Indeed,” she replied. She stood. “I’m off to the Manor. Hopefully, I will see you before Friday, when we meet with Healer Granger?”

Russ rose and bowed slightly. “It would be my pleasure if that were so. In the meantime, let me know if I may assist in anything else. I have much to accomplish this week to update the wards since the addition of Miss Granger to the staff.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” she said, heading toward the door. “Good day, Russ.”

“My lady.”


	4. Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is regrouping with friends, but Draco and Russ have a darker purpose.

Chapter 4 - Extraction

Hermione twirled around in front of her mirror, grinning. Since she’d decided last weekend to take more time to be happy and spend time with others, things had seemed to brighten. She and Millicent had hit it off well, surprisingly well. Millicent had a dry, self-deprecating type of humor that fit Hermione well, and they had started to feel less like colleagues and more like new friends. The people she had met in the Infirmary needed all the help she could offer, but things were starting to make sense. Those that were most affected by Cruciatus and mind magic ills were scheduled for daily sessions, which was allowing her an optimal amount of time to begin mind healing, including counseling. As long as she couched it in mind magic terms, the witches were happy to accept her suggestions for strengthening their psyches. It was fascinating, seeing their growth even over so short an amount of time. Hermione had to remind herself constantly that placebos were just as effective in the short-term to keep herself from feeling too proud of her progress, but she couldn’t help feeling as though her training was really better spent helping these women than so many others she had fought to heal at St. Mungo’s. Her newer potion therapies were also showing good progress, although she was a little concerned that Millicent had not allowed her into the main potions laboratory. She just said that their Potions Master would have to allow her there, and it hadn’t been arranged yet. She was interested to meet the elusive Potions Master, wondering if he was anything like the masters at St. Mungo’s. Most of them were territorial about their space, so she wasn’t surprised about that. She just hoped that he didn’t get offended that she developed her own potions. She really had to fight for brewing space in St. Mungo’s, and it was a hassle she hoped to avoid here.

With one more twirl in front of the mirror, Hermione decided that her new skirt and top were pretty enough for Harry and Ginny without being too much. She knew it had been a while, and she didn’t want to seem overly formal for their visit. Now that she had impulsively decided to open her life back up, she couldn’t avoid the nervousness that reminded her that she might have made an error in judgment. She snagged a white cardigan from the hanger on her wardrobe door and put it on as she practically skipped to the kitchen to check on the roast she had in the oven. She knew it and the treacle tart she had on the counter were two of Harry’s favorites. She also had some fantastic baked veg mix and a light salad with some nuts and dried fruits, something she knew Ginny was fond of eating. Peaseblossom was on his cat tree, snuggled in the top with his favorite catnip mouse. He gave a satisfied little chirp when she dropped a kiss on his head in passing before curling around his mouse and shutting his eyes, purring. The place settings were at the table, the yellow rosebuds in a vase, everything was where she had planned. It would be any minute now.

From the other room, she heard the whoosh of the floo, then Ginny’s voice calling her name. Smiling nervously, Hermione turned away from the oven and walked in to see Harry landing on the hearthrug, Ginny having moved toward the open doorway. There was a slight pause as Hermione and Ginny met one another’s gaze, then the moment broke as they rushed forward and hugged one another, laughing, tears welling in their eyes. Harry stood back, smiling gently. It looked like it might be alright after all.

Finally, the girls backed away, hands on each other’s shoulders. “Hermione, you look wonderful!” Ginny blurted out before grabbing her in a hug once again.

Hermione giggled at this, then let Ginny go once again. “It is so good to see you again. I don’t think I realized quite how much I missed you both.”

“At least, not until I butted in. Glad I did, though.” Harry stepped forward and hugged Hermione briefly. “Smells heavenly in here.”

“Thank you! I did hope I wouldn’t poison us all,” Hermione quipped, accepting a bottle of wine from Harry and turning toward the kitchen. “I hope you both brought a big appetite. Peaseblossom and I would never be able to finish this.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Peaseblossom would surely enjoy some roast.” Ginny turned around in the kitchen, having grabbed the wine glasses on the counter. “Shall we open it?”

“That was my intention,” laughed Hermione, tapping the cork with her wand and pouring a bit in a glass for each of them. “I didn’t know if you’d come hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

Harry gave a groan. “I feel like a teenager again lately. I’ve been starving all the time!”

Ginny bumped him with her hip. “You have been working longer hours lately, and missing meals. It’s your own fault you feel like a bottomless pit when you finally get to the table.”

“Well, sit, sit!” Hermione shooed them to the table. “There’s no need to wait. It tastes better hot, anyway.”

“No mushrooms, though, right?” Harry joked, then ducked as Hermione aimed a blow toward his head. “Just kidding, I swear!”

Pretending to be offended, Hermione sniffed. “It’s not as though I haven’t had more chances to learn to cook since Hogwarts. I wouldn’t have survived my Healer training if I hadn’t!”

Everyone laughed as they sat, deliberately letting the excitement carry them into the meal and away from the discomfort. Harry walked over and formally offered Peaseblossom an owl feather, which he disdainfully sniffed and then, grudgingly, smacked with his paw into his play space. Everyone laughed and turned back to the table as Peaseblossom turned his back and washed, pretending to ignore them. The salad was deemed superb by Ginny, even though Harry commented that it was a bit girly, with all that fruit. Of course, the roast and veggies were the highlight. Even Peaseblossom gave his opinion, begging for his bit in his bowl, surprising them all by leaving behind his mouse and his new feather for a bite. The talk veered around subjects, covering everything from the kids to Ministry gossip to how Ginny was doing at the Prophet as the Sports Correspondent. They all wanted to keep it light, and it worked.

After dinner, the friends were happy to gather back in front of the fire, another bottle of wine opened, everyone relaxing in the renewed warmth of friendship. A bit of a lull broke in on them, strangely uncomfortable after all their lighter conversation.

Finally, Hermione spoke. “I’m doing much better, you know,” she said. “I really am. Things are going better for my research. I just needed some time to be me on my own, rather than me as a part of everyone else, I guess.”

Ginny smiled gently. “I know. I can tell a bit, now. When I first saw you again, it seemed like something that was broken… well, I can tell it’s better.”

Harry nodded. “I wasn’t sure when we talked in the park, but I can now. You’ve changed, Hermione, but it’s for the better. You needed this, whatever it was.”

“I know. I just didn’t know how to ask for it.” Hermione leaned forward, rubbing her fingertip around the top of her wine glass. “But after I saw you in the park, I just knew. I’m strong enough as me now. I’m ready to be a part of something without losing myself again.”

“That’s the most important thing,” said Ginny. “We love you, but we could tell we weren’t making things better.” She shrugged, then looked at Harry. “We all had some healing to do. I just wish we could have been there for you.”

Harry smiled. “The important thing is, we’re here now. And we’ll always be here when you need us. All you have to do is ask.”

Hermione smiled. “I’ve always depended on that. Even when I couldn’t come back, I knew you were there.”

Ginny cleared her throat. “So, are you seeing anyone? Doing any dating with those young mediwitches just out of training?”

Hermione surprised herself with blushing. “Ginny! They’re like little kids to me! They think of me as the old lady!”

Harry let out a guffaw. “So, you’re not a cougar, then?”

Ginny turned back to him, looking puzzled. “A cougar?”

Hermione choked a little. “Muggle term for dirty old woman chasing after younger men.”

“Ha! I would love to see that! Although, with those terrible lime green robes, I hope you have some good knickers to flash. That color is not good for your complexion.” Ginny grinned. “Of course, there’s something to be said for playing Healer and Patient.”

Harry and Ginny both laughed hard as Hermione blazed red. “Not a chance, you two! Although, I did meet some new people lately.” She trailed off, realizing she hadn’t thought about what to say about Jonquil House.

“Well? Don’t leave us in suspense! Is it a new research project?” Harry leaned forward, grabbing the wine and refilling Ginny’s glass, followed by his own.

“It’s not research, but it is a new project,” she said. “It’s very hush hush, though. I can’t really tell you much about it without causing issues.”

“That’s no fun!” said Ginny. “Is it patient privacy, or what?”

“More like patient protection,” said Hermione. “It’s a closed facility designed to protect the patients. Don’t worry, Harry, it’s alright. Augustus Pye is one of the founders, and I’ve checked them out thoroughly.”

Harry started to look a little less concerned. “You’re not suspecting any issues working there, are you? I would hate for you to get in and not be able to get loose.”

“I’m saying this wrong, I think,” Hermione said. “I can’t really tell many specifics, except that the patients there are escaping conflict, and the staff are very careful to prevent anyone identifying them before they are relocated. Security is tight, so I feel quite safe working there.”

Harry sighed. “I get the feeling I wouldn’t like everything about what you’re saying, but I know how you are when you get a cause.” He sipped his wine. “So, with all that security, what kind of people have you met?”

“I can’t really tell you everyone I know there,” she answered. “There are some there that I recognize, but since I work under glamour, they don’t really know me. However, there is another person who works there that I can’t quite figure out. He sounds familiar, but I do not recognize him. He’s under glamour, I know, but there’s just something familiar about him.”

“Oooh, sounds intriguing,” Ginny said. Then she wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously. “Is he hot?”

“No!” Hermione shouted, laughing. “It’s nothing like that! Of course, I can’t be sure his age isn’t changed by the glamour, but he seems a bit older, more serious. Plus, he’s very formal. But Augustus says he’s phenomenal at wards. He’s the real reason that this facility is able to remain a secret.” Plus, I want to plunder his library, she thought, smiling a little at the thought.

~

“So,” said Draco, leaning back with his wine glass dangling negligently from one hand. “Have you let Granger in your lab yet, Russ?”

Russ rolled his eyes expressively. “In good time, Draco,” he said. “I don’t just share my workspace with anyone.”

“We will need to put together her own space for research,” said Narcissa thoughtfully. “Add more to our allotment of ingredients orders. Millicent says that her newest treatments are far better than even Augustus had intimated.”

“It’s the targeting,” said Russ musingly. “When each ingredient, each process is created precisely for one patient, the effects are going to be tremendous. I will need to spend some time working with Miss Granger to understand the processes fully before I can replicate her results.”

Draco laughed unexpectedly. “You think she’ll allow you to brew everything for her? She has an ongoing feud with the Potions department at St. Mungo’s the likes of which haven’t been seen in decades!” He took a sip of his wine, then placed it beside him on the table. “Granger isn’t one to allow others to do her work for her.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Healer Granger is a professional. I feel sure that, once her role is more settled, you will be able to arrange more mutual brewing endeavors.”

The leer on Draco’s face was unmistakable. “Oh, is that what you kids call it these days? Brewing endeavors?”

“Draco,” Narcissa snapped. Russ shifted in his seat but otherwise seemed to ignore Draco as he took a drink.

Draco rolled his eyes. “In any case, I don’t think it will be that simple, but it will work out, especially once she knows more about who we are and why we made Jonquil House.”

Russ rose, striding toward the sideboard. “More wine, Narcissa?” he said quietly as he lifted the bottle to pour.

“No, thank you,” she said softly. She knew he did not approve of allowing Healer Granger deeper into the administration of Jonquil House, despite knowing she would be interested. Once Draco took the notion, though, it was unlikely they wouldn’t be approaching her with the truth, and soon. She let the conversational lull last a bit, to let Draco know her disapproval at his lack of tact. “Have you decided when you will be approaching Mrs. Goyle?”

Draco nodded. “I ran into a bit of luck there,” he said. “Greg has an appointment with some friends this evening. He should have left around 8, and we will be headed there in about half an hour, to give him time.”

Narcissa rose. “In that case, I will take my leave, gentlemen, so you may prepare.”

Russ turned back to her. “I will send my Patronus, once we reach Jonquil House.”

She looked at them both, watching for their resolution. As usual, they both looked determined. She nodded with pride. “Your health and good fortune.”

~

“So, is he happy?” Hermione asked, her eyes dilated heavily with wine and tiredness in the firelight.

Ginny and Harry looked at each other. Ginny nodded, then turned back to her. “He loves Susan very much. As quiet as she is, she really defers to him, depends on him. I think he needed that, to feel like a hero in her life.”

Harry shifted, raising his arm so he could pull Ginny closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. He needed to be first in someone’s world. That’s not really something anyone else gives him, other than the kids.”

“How are the children?”

“He’s so proud of them,” Ginny said. “You’d think they were the first to do anything, especially Rosie. She’s really smart, you know. He’s always on about how she’s ahead on things, how she’s learning to read early.” Ginny paused, seeming to think about it. “He told me once that she reminded him of how smart you are.”

Hermione lowered her head a little to hide her eyes. She reached to pick up her glass on the table, taking a quick gulp. It didn’t help. “I wish…” She sighed, letting it go. “I’m happy for them. I’m happy for him.”

Harry nodded seriously as Ginny watched her. “We know, Hermione.”

“I just…” She sighed again. “Really, I should know better than this. I’ve been a therapist for years, but it seems like some things just never go away.” She took a deep breath. “I feel like I failed him.”

“We know.” Ginny seemed to think for a moment. “Thing is, there isn’t a way to fail these things, except for not caring and not trying. And the fact that it still bothers you so much, yeah. That proves that you did try, that you did care. There’s no failure in that.”

“Besides, when you come right down to it, he failed you,” said Harry seriously. “I mean, there’s no way he could understand how bad it was for you.”

“He knew,” said Hermione. “It just hurt him too much. He didn’t have it to give anymore. He couldn’t help it.”

“He could have helped the timing,” growled Ginny. “While you were in the hospital was not the time to break it off.”

“He had to, Ginny,” said Hermione solemnly. “Staying away wouldn’t have worked, and he couldn’t fake it. Really, it was best to take care of it immediately, rather than let it eat away at us. Really, I think it was one of the bravest things he’s ever done. Even if it did hurt like hell.”

“I suppose,” allowed Ginny. “Still, I just have so much trouble understanding it.”

“It’s like you said, Gin. We all needed healing after that.” Harry squeezed him closer, dropping a kiss on her hair. “There’s just some things that can’t be helped.”

~

Russ paused, holding his breath. He didn’t think anyone was in the drawing room where he landed, but he couldn’t be too careful. The ancient house creaked a bit, seeming to loom in the darkness. The fire had obviously not been lit before he had flooed in, and there were no other lights on in the room. He stepped nimbly to the side, waiting for Draco. A moment later, Draco appeared, whirling elegantly as he landed on the hearth. Russ gave a nod, then crept toward the entrance to the hall. Draco shadowed him closely.

The door did not creak as Russ had feared. It seemed that, even with only two house elves, the Goyles still had decent maintenance, at any rate. It had been some years since Russ had been to their ancestral home. Draco had told him that it was in decent shape, but there was nothing like seeing it personally to reassure himself of his memory. He cleared his thoughts, his eyes darting one way and another. The hall was clear. With a quick nod, he stepped forward, walking closely to the wall as he moved toward the open stairway down to the right. Draco, after closing the drawing room door, came behind. There were portraits in the hallway, but they all seemed to be dozing, eyes closed. There was barely a squeak on the risers as Russ stepped up, moving forward quietly to the gallery on the second floor. He knew that the family rooms were nearby, but he didn’t know which one contained the nursery. He waited for Draco impatiently. Draco nodded as he reached the top and took the lead. He led the way to the door three down from where the staircase ended. After casting a quick nonverbal Silencio on the hinges, he put his hand to the knob and turned, one hand on the door to keep it from flinging forward precipitously.

Russ was behind him as soon as his head cleared the doorway, looking to see if anyone had noticed them inside. A small boy was sleeping on an enormous four poster bed alone. All the sheets, pillows, and blankets had obviously been jerked off and thrown wildly to the side, the little boy curled into the fetal position in the middle, thumb in his mouth. A short, slender woman was sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, looking as though she were barely holding herself from flight but stubbornly watching her son. Draco brought the door back to a close as Russ flowed through, then closed it and gently cleared his throat.

The young woman sprang up from the bed so quickly, she nearly fell herself as her toe got caught in one of the discarded blankets. Stumbling, she reached forward as she tilted. Russ sprang toward her and caught her hands gently. When she found her balance, though, she snatched them away and looked as if she were either going to run away or faint, until she saw Draco’s face and took a startled breath.

“What… what are you doing here, Draco? You can’t be here!”

“It’s alright, Tracey, we’re not here to cause trouble.”

“No, you can’t be here! Greg will… you have to leave, now!” She looked like she was yelling, but her voice was a terrified, hoarse whisper. Her slender form was trembling dramatically as the adrenaline shot through her.

Russ cleared his throat. “We merely wished to check your health and the health of your son. We mean no harm.”

“No, you don’t understand! If Greg finds out you were here, things will be… be really, really bad!”

Draco sighed, seeming to get frustrated. “I know, Tracey. You don’t have to tell me. We’re only here to help.”

“I’ll never be able to get away, Draco, don’t you see? I can’t leave without Gerald, and they’ll never let me take him with me.” Her voice dropped even lower. “Gerald can’t do what they ask. He won’t last much longer if I’m not here to protect him.”

“You can bring Gerald with us, Tracey,” Draco said soothingly. “This isn’t just about you. We know you love Gerald.”

“They know! They always know! We’ll never be able to get away!”

Even with her quiet whispers, the child started to stir. Russ turned his attention to the small boy, watching for his reaction. To his surprise, the boy didn’t run to his mother. Instead, a steady whine started to rise from his throat as he wrapped his arms tightly around his legs and started shaking back and forth.

Draco’s eyes flicked briefly to the child, then back to Tracey. She was no longer moving toward the door, but she was shivering more dramatically now. Draco tried again. “Tracey, you need help. Gerald needs help. You know me. My magic is far stronger than Greg’s ever was. He would not find you. If not for you, do it for Gerald. He needs to be somewhere safe.”

Russ cleared his throat. “Draco, I don’t want to force the issue, but we need to leave. Now.” The child’s strange whining noise was starting to rise dramatically. If Greg returned now, he wouldn’t be able to miss the sound, not for long.

Draco stepped toward Tracey, holding out his hand. “Come on, Tracey. I know I was an annoying prick when we were kids, but I would never hurt you. You know I would never hurt Gerald.” Her head dipped a little, as though she were starting to listen. “Please. Let Mother and I take care of you both. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

In the distance, Russ heard the slam of one of the huge front doors. He whipped around at the sound, then turned back to Draco. “We’re out of time,” he said, moving toward the child.

It was the wrong move. Tracey immediately stepped between him and her son, wailing. “No, you can’t take Gerald. He won’t understand! Please!”

Russ could hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs at speed. He whipped his head around and cast a locking charm at the door, hoping to slow Goyle down a little, and a minor glamour at Draco. “Draco?” he said one last time.

“Alright,” Tracey said suddenly, her eyes huge and dark as she looked at Draco. “We’ll go. Just let me get Gerald.” She turned, reaching toward the child, as though to grab his hand.

Another door, not to the hallway, sprang open suddenly. Draco was already turning, reaching for Tracey’s other outstretched hand. Russ moved between Draco and the sudden appearance of two men, both dark and bulky, as they sprang into the room.

“I told you, Gregory,” hissed a deep voice. “I told you the slut was cuckolding you behind your back. I told you it was time for stronger measures.” Russ’s eyes snapped up in shock. It couldn’t be…

But it was too late for thought. Both men had their wands raised, curses on their lips. Russ saw that Draco wasn’t quite ready to use the portkey. They would hit Tracey… He stumbled forward, trying to get between her and the curses…

Then it all went black.

~

“I think we’d better go,” Ginny sighed, smiling at Hermione. “I know I’m getting older when I can’t party to sunrise anymore. It’s just not right!”

Harry laughed. “At least now we’re not exhausted all the time because of our bad choices. We were a little too ready to party without rest when we were younger.”

“Maybe you were,” sniffed Hermione, lifting her chin as though offended. “I was much more careful with my time.”

“Obviously,” drawled Harry, in such an easy imitation of Snape that both the women giggled.

“I would love to get together again soon, though,” added Ginny after the laughter died a little. “This time, though, I want you to come to Grimmauld. I can make the roast duck you liked so much.”

Hermione started to answer when a bright light suddenly burst in through her wall, dazzling them all. It took her a moment to realize that a huge dragon Patronus had just entered through her sitting room wall. Its mouth opened as they all gazed at it, stunned. None of them knew anyone with that particular Patronus.

It didn’t waste time. “Healer Granger, we need you immediately at Intake. We’ve got serious spell damage here.” The dragon, who looked a bit like a Chinese Fireball made of moonstone, swirled away as though it were an ouroboros and vanished.

Hermione immediately ran toward her bedroom. Harry’s voice raised in the darkness. “Who was that, Hermione? What’s going on?”

Ring, where’s the ring? she thought distractedly as she went through her jewelry dish at her vanity table. Finding it, she snatched it up and ran back to the sitting room. “I’m so sorry, guys, but I’m always on call for Intake at the facility. If they are this urgent, I’m afraid they’ll need me desperately.” She quickly grabbed them both around the necks and squeezed, hard. “Owl me, Harry, will you? I do want to see you all soon.” She grabbed the line of Ingwaz and shouted, “Intake!” before the portkey pulled at her navel and swept her away.

Harry looked at Ginny. “Well, it’s Healer Granger to the rescue again.”

Ginny smiled. “I’ll owl her tomorrow or Monday and make sure everything turned out alright.” She paused for a moment. “Didn’t that patronus sound like Malfoy? Do you think he’s involved with this facility?”

Harry shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out later. Floo?”

Ginny smiled at the gesture, grabbing a bit of powder for a bowl on the hearth. “Of course.” They swept away in a flare of green light, leaving only Peaseblossom to continue to enjoy the warmth of the flames.


	5. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracey and Gerald are in intake, but so is Mr. Russ.

Chapter 5 - Discovery

  
The chaos in Intake was dizzying. It took Hermione a split second to get stable before she turned and wondered which way to turn. There were obviously two patients, and from the cries, they both needed help.

A dark-haired man she didn’t recognize turned at the sound of her arrival and gestured toward the smaller bed surrounded by women. “Help the boy. We’ll work on Russ.” Before she turned, she noticed that Augustus was already there, running his wand through the air over the tall man convulsing in the specialized bed that was designed for victims of the Cruciatus curse. She didn’t give herself any more time before she ran toward the bed across, where she saw a small child screaming and striking all the women who leaned toward him, including someone she assumed was his mother. Millicent was trying to wave her wand to run some tests, but his wild movements kept interfering with her charms. Hermione ran to the opposite side of the bed and began her own charms. There didn’t seem to be any active curses, but what little readings she was getting on pain were off the charts. The mother, who looked tiny at Millicent’s side, had pulled away from trying to touch him and started moaning, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

“I told them, he doesn’t understand, he can’t help it. Gregory is going to be so angry. Please, please don’t hurt him. He’s just scared.” She acted like a woman suddenly introduced to the Arctic, shivering and bowing her head to protect from the fear and chill.

Hermione had a sudden thought, seeing her response. “Bulstrode, anything other than overall pain receptors?”

“No, Healer,” Bulstrode said calmly, still trying to find some way to soothe the child. “Just pain. Nothing else seems to want to read.”

Hermione decided to go with her idea. With a quick wave of her wand, the privacy curtains rushed around the bed. She put the strongest Silencio she could on the curtains, and the gabble of noise from the opposite bed disappeared. “Ladies, please be as quiet as you can. I think I have an idea.” She gestured to the lights, causing them to dim down as low as they could without losing the ability to work. “Mum, do I have your permission for a surface read on your son’s mind? I think I know what can help.”

The lady gasped as though she had been holding her breath. “Yes, Healer. Please, help him.”

Hermione stooped as closely as she could to the child and caught a quick glance in his eyes. It was barely enough to make a connection, but it worked. She legilimized him just enough to catch what he was perceiving around him, and her breath caught. She had been right, after all. She pulled clear and started casting. She put a special spell on his ears to filter sound down to a bearable level, then added a charm designed to protect victims of blinding curses from getting enough light to burn their retinas. It didn’t seem as though taste was bothering him, but she did put a Bubble Head charm around him to cleanse the air of excess smells. She then turned back to the mother. “Does he like hugs? Swaddling? Tight pressure? Any of those things?”

The lady looked dazed for a few seconds, then surprised. “Yes. He prefers to have me lie mostly atop him, when he is truly afraid.”

Another quick wand movement, and Hermione wrapped him in his sheet in a tight swaddle that would easily come undone if he pulled his hands free. She watched for a moment to see if he would try to throw it off, but though he continued to rock, his frantic movements had started to slow ever since she had drawn the curtain. He shuddered like a horse after miles of full gallop, then closed his eyes and let his head drop back, tears starting to run down his face.

“Gerald!” his mother gasped, and then she reached toward him. Millicent, seeing what she intended, gave her a push from behind, boosting her into his treatment bed and allowing her to curl around her son and rock him. The little body seemed to let go of its final bit of pressure and seemed to relax more, even as his mother finally wept over his short dark hair. Millicent and Hermione both started to run charms over the patients, looking for any other ailments, but though both seemed exhausted, underfed, and a bit dehydrated, neither seemed to be in any serious pain. Apparently, Hermione’s risk had paid off. She took a sigh, then raised her eyes briefly to Millicent.

Millicent looked harried, but she nodded and gestured for Hermione to leave behind the curtain with her. Millicent muttered a quick monitoring spell over the bed, and they both left behind it. The change in sound was like leaving a graveyard and entering a Quidditch match. The mediwitches were trying to assist the familiar-looking dark man with attempting to restrain Mr. Russ, but it wasn’t going well. Augustus was still running diagnostic and attempting to magically introduce some of her medicine directly into his stomach.

Millicent whirled around back to Hermione, her voice low but clear. “You forgot your glamour.”

“Shite!” Hermione muttered before pulling out her ring and saying the charm. She looked back up with chagrin at Millicent. Millicent merely nodded.

“It’s alright, just get over there and help them,” she said calmly. “We’ll talk later.”

Hermione rushed over to Augustus’ side. “What’s happening?”

Augustus looked grim. “Every time we try something, and every time it looks as though he will respond, Mr. Russ goes into convulsions. It’s as though he is having intermittent Cruciatus, but I’ve never seen that happen without a wand actively trained on the victim. I don’t understand what is going on.” Mr. Russ shuddered and went still, his eyes blinking slowly in a dazed fashion. “We cannot even seem to keep him restrained, and I was worried to use Petrificus in case it might make the Cruciatus worse.”

Hermione turned her eyes back toward Mr. Russ. His eyes were open again, and he seemed to be blinking deliberately. She stepped forward suddenly. “Mr. Russ, blink if you understand what is happening.” He blinked once, deliberately. She sighed in relief. “Blink once for yes, two for no. I think I need to legilimize you to see what is happening. Do I have your permission?”

“Beaucoeur, I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” the dark man across the bed interrupted. “Mr. Russ is not very trusting with his personal thoughts. You might not even find much of interest.”

Mr. Russ began to seize again, his back cracking as it bowed impossibly far, his feet vibrating against the end of the mattress, his eyes rolled back in his head, rough grunts issuing from his abused throat. The mediwitches had given up trying to restrain him, instead placing extra pillows between his limbs and the sides as house elves popped in with more. After a few moments, he relaxed again. He panted for a few moments before looking imploringly back at Hermione and blinking once, deliberately.

“I’m sorry, sir. I hate to interrupt your privacy. Thank you for the permission to step in.” The dark man started to interrupt again, this time reaching for her across the bed, but Hermione had already started to slip her conciousness into Mr. Russ’ eyes as Augustus came around to defend her from the dark man, who was coming around toward her on that side.

The change in environment was dramatic. Unlike when she entered the mind of the innocent child who had no Occlumancy training, Mr. Russ’ mindscape was clearly a deliberate construct. She felt the Infirmary surroundings fade away as she became subsumed in a frozen, barren wasteland. There were vast plains of wilderness, empty of trees, animals, or anything else recognizable. She turned, looking for any landmarks at all, and finally saw behind her a broad, open area of frozen ice, like a lake. She thought she saw small specks nearby, shapes that were different against the unrelieved white. She stumbled, then used her magic to glide forward, taking her awareness to the edge of that vast lake.

She hadn’t been wrong in her observations. Standing next to the lake was something that looked rather like a statue of a man, only it was as dark as a Dementor and covered with ice. It was covered in long black robes, and the hood was covering the face. She stepped toward it, reaching out her hand, wand at the ready. A tap of the wand, a Warming Charm on her lips, and the ice seemed to evaporate before her. The figured took a deep, shuddering breath before collapsing at her feet.

She didn’t hesitate. She dropped beside the man, reaching toward her to pull away the robe she she could see his face. To her astonishment, his hand darted out and grabbed hers as it came to the edge of his hood, holding her gently away. He then turned, reaching with his other hand to lever himself into a sitting position. She tugged her hand away, and he leaned against both hands as he continued to sit, seeming to ignore her scrutiny. Finally, just as she was about to speak, he raised both hands to the long draping sides of the hood and pulled them down.

She gasped, stunned. Before he could reach for her, she scrambled to her feet, breathing hard and feeling confused in a way she hadn’t in years. “No. I tried to save you, I really did. I promise I did. I wouldn’t have just let you die without trying.” She whimpered, feeling a stabbing pain in her chest that she hadn’t faced in years. “Please, no. If I’ve angered you, fine. Just… don’t try to taunt me with my failures. There’s no way you’re… You can’t be…”

The tall man’s shoulders shrugged before he stumbled to his feet. “Perhaps you may wish otherwise, Miss Granger, but the truth is the truth. I am sorry you had to learn this way, but the best laid plans of mice and men…” He stumbled a bit, then steadied himself. “I’m sorry.” He stared at her face sternly, almost stonily. He still seemed troubled at giving apologies.

Hermione’s breath caught. She stared, wide-eyed, at his familiar face, his long nose, his dark hair, now threaded with liberal amounts of white. She could not smell him in the cold, but the cadence of his voice was right. His mannerisms seemed the same. If this was some spectre raised by Mr. Russ to scare her or fake her sympathy, it was an incredibly accurate one. Then again, why would Mr. Russ have reason to think that this face, this man would be a key to her remorse and help?

Then, it hit her. Russ. Severus. She was almost dazed at her lack of understanding, at her missing the point. How didn’t she know from the very beginning that it was he, he who would be the one with the incredible skill in warding, he who would go on a crusade to save victims of domestic violence, he who would know her and her motivations so well as a Healer? She may not have figured out who he was, but it was obvious in hindsight. “How did you keep me from putting it together?”

“The glamours include just the tiniest bit of Confundus mixed with Notice-Me-Not, just so people feel strangely averse to thinking through the mystery, if something or other makes them wonder,” Snape seemed a little steadier at this point. The shrieking winds also seemed to slow their swirling, and the light was slightly brighter than it had been before she had found him.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re still occluding too hard for me to see what is happening here,” she said. “And you were frozen. Why were you so afraid to move?”

He hesitated. “I think whatever happened has tied my making certain motions to the Cruciatus. I don’t know what motions trigger it, other than it not being my eye motions. I simply tried to not move at all. The pain is making occluding necessary.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “Can you let go enough for me to see your memory of what caused this? Where you were cursed? Attacked?”

His face became perfectly still for a moment, then he nodded. Abruptly, she was in his memory of that night’s rescue mission. They were both standing aside watching, very much like watching the memory in a Pensieve. She nodded in admiration. This was the simplest construct she had ever seen for viewing memories without getting disoriented. She wondered how easily she could teach this method to future patients. He was a teacher once; perhaps he can make suggestions, she thought, then turned her attention to the scene. He had started it after hearing Goyle’s slammed door, so she saw the despairing woman’s pleas, the small child’s terrified whines, and the sudden surprise of seeing both Goyle men enter the room. The memory paused at this point.

Snape stepped away from her side, around the glamoured versions of himself and the dark man who had protested her suggestions of Legilimency, and toward the two Goyle men frozen in mid-speech. “This should not have happened,” he said shortly. “Goyle, Sr. is supposed to be confined in Azkaban. Ever since the war, I have kept meticulous records of the placement of former Death Eaters, especially so after opening Jonquil House.”

Her breath stuttered briefly in fear. “So, there’s been a breakout at Azkaban. Why haven’t we heard?”

“Fairly simple, Miss Granger. Either the Ministry, in its vast wisdom, has suppressed the knowledge, or…”

She gasped. “They don’t know yet.” She turned to the woman in the room. “How long? Do you think she’ll know?”

“We can only ask.” He walked to the side of the Goyles, his eyes sharp. “Let’s see if I heard the spells.”

She walked around until she was opposite Snape, on the other side of the two Goyles, her eyes fixed on their faces. “Ready.”

The memory started again. She saw memory Mr. Russ step hurriedly toward the men, then the loud shouting as they sent different spells toward him. The sudden darkness and falling back onto the snowy bank of the frozen lake startled her, but she had expected it. What she hadn’t expected was to find Snape on his knees in the snow, holding his head tightly on either side, rocking slightly.

“The pain,” he moaned. “I must have tried to move, or perhaps seeing the memory again brought it back.”

She hurriedly knelt next to him and began to cast a charm. It took several moments and several flicks of the wand, but he was soon able to relax enough to straighten and look back at her again. His eyes were bloodshot but calm.

“I didn’t hear the words of the curses clearly,” she said. “Were you better able to understand?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “It was cut off by my loss of consciousness. However, there may be another solution. We have a Pensieve onsite. If you could get the memories from Mrs. Goyle and Draco…”

“Draco?” she interrupted, then her eyes grew wide. “Oh! I thought he looked familiar, but the hair threw me off.”

Snape snorted. “He hates wearing glamours, but when we were almost discovered, I had to do something. Regardless, he knows the method of combining several memories of one event. When you leave the mindscape, I will keep my memory ready for extraction. Tell him the password to the cabinet is ‘Remembrance.’”

Hermione nodded, then stood again. “I will return as soon as possible. In the meantime, I think a Petrificus Totalus might be best. It will prevent any movement other than your eyes, and the version I use therapeutically stops the movement not at the physical level but the thought level. Hopefully, that’ll be enough to keep you from accidentally cruciating yourself again.”

Snape shuddered, then nodded. “I trust your judgment, Miss Granger, although the thought of being that helpless is highly repulsive to me.”

Hermione nodded, then twisted as though apparating. With a change of focus, she found herself back in the intake area of the Infirmary. With a quick twitch of her wand, she cast her Petrificus, then looked up at the other people surrounding Snape’s bed.

It looked as if it had only been moments since she had turned her attention to Snape’s mindscape. Augustus was arguing intensely with the dark man, who she now knew was Draco. Millicent was sending away house elves and mediwitches, giving assignments and organizing the area. Snape was now still, his eyes closed, his face drenched in sweat. His entire body was trembling with pain, his clothes wrinkled and soiled with his suffering. After seeing him whole in his mind, it was an incredible contrast. Hermione took a deep breath and spoke.

“Gentlemen,” she said. Augustus and Draco startled and turned to her abruptly. “I need to find out what curses were used on Mr. Russ. I was told you, sir, could direct me to the Pensieve and teach me a method of stitching together several memories.” She turned to Millicent. “Do you have a small bottle, Bulstrode?”

“Yes, Healer Beaucoeur,” Millicent murmured, handing her a small bottle plugged with a cork. Hermione popped the cork before she turned back and began to pull the memory from Snape’s temple. “I almost have it, sir. Just a few more moments… there.” His lashes fluttered briefly, then he clearly blinked at her before closing his eyes again in exhaustion. “I’ve put him under a modified Petrificus. Apparently, there’s some movement he’s making that triggers the Cruciatus, so this should temporarily keep him from the pain. I’d like you to start him on the Stage One regimen of Cruciatus treatment. I don’t know enough yet to plan the next step, but he really needs some nerve relief before anything else.”

“Of course, Healer,” said Millicent. “What about Mrs. Goyle and Gerald?”

“Have you ever had experience with children who are autistic, Mediwitch Bulstrode?”

Millicent paused. “I thought that was more of a Muggle disease,” she said. “Isn’t that when the kids are mentally disabled and can’t talk?”

“That’s part of what researchers thought, at first,” Hermione admitted. “However, they’ve found more information over the years. A large part of what causes autistic children to do things that don’t make sense is that their senses are somewhat scrambled. Things sound too loud, clothes feel overwhelming against their skin, they can’t eat certain things without gagging. It mainly has to do with their senses feeling too much or too little. If what I saw with Gerald is true, he is overstimulated by many of his senses. Once I quieted and darkened the room, covered him with the Bubble Head Charm to get rid of smells, swaddled him so he could get some deep pressure, he was able to start calming.”

Millicent nodded decisively. “So, try to keep him as calm and quiet as possible, and find out what foods will not set him off. Anything else?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “I think many autistic people also have strict routines. Perhaps Mrs. Goyle can help us work to keep to those as much as possible. And they definitely need a house elf assigned to them permanently. If there’s a personnel change, it will make things more difficult for him than it would others.”

Draco spoke up suddenly. “Should I get the memory from Tracey? She doesn’t know anyone else here, so it might make it easier.”

Hermione nodded. “That would be great.” She turned to one of the remaining mediwitches still in the room and nodded. “Mediwitch Carrow, as Bulstrode takes over the active care for the Goyles, you can monitor Mr. Russ and provide for his needs. I’m sure he would prefer to be cleaned properly and get a private room. Send his house elf to us if there is any change in his condition.”

Draco turned and followed Millicent behind the curtain to talk to the Goyles as Hermione turned and pulled Augustus toward the door of the ward. Once they stepped through and turned into Hermione’s new office door, Augustus let out an explosive sigh and sat in a chair in front of her desk. She flopped into the other chair next to him and just breathed for a moment. When she reopened her eyes, he was staring at her intently.

“What do you think happened?” he said.

“I’m not perfectly sure,” she answered, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands as she spoke. “I suspect, though, that the curses were perfectly timed so they hit him simultaneously, which would amplify and join their effects. They were obviously different spells, but I could not tell what from his memory. He lost consciousness too quickly for me to tell.”

“So, you’ll be joining three memories. Then what?”

“If they’re the spells I think they are, then we’ll have an idea of how much leeway we will have while treating him. Keeping him under Petrificus at all times takes a terrible toll on a body.”

“A terrible toll on the mind, as well, especially for someone as independent as this man,” Augustus muttered.

She tilted her head in inquiry. “What happened while I was in his mindscape?”

Augustus looked slightly flustered. “His conspirator in rescue was trying to convince me not to allow you to treat him. I’m sure he had his reasons. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped.” He plucked at the silvery Portkey ring on his finger and spun it around his knuckles. “There’s too many mysteries tonight coming to light, and I’m afraid we are going to have problems here.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Something dangerous is building, and I’m afraid we’re going to need assistance. I know people who can help, but I don’t know if the Directrix and Mr. Russ are willing to accept that help.”

“They have reasons not to seek help beyond their circles, but they also know who you are and who you know,” he said reasonably. “I could be wrong, but I’ve been under the impression that this has been building for a bit. I think that’s part of the reason they were finally willing to add another Healer to their retinue. Then again, since you are a known quantity, they could have asked for a different person, a person that was more likely to know them and understand their reticence.”

“So you think they might be more willing to get my brand of help than it seems,” she followed. Her sigh seemed to come from her toes. “I’d better go seek out those memories and stitch them together. Is there any way to contact the Directrix? I think she needs to know what has happened.”

“She does know, Beaucoeur,” said a voice at the door. It seemed Draco was ready to go for the Pensieve. “I sent my Patronus to her shortly after I sent it to you. She will be meeting us in Mr. Russ’s office.” He cleared his throat and inclined his head to Augustus. “Healer Pye, I believe we have things under control at the moment, but I suspect we will need to have a council of war in the next day or two, if you are agreeable.”

Augustus stood and nodded in turn. “Of course. I am at your disposal, as always.”

Draco looked at Hermione, his eyes seeming to drill into hers. “Let’s go, Beaucoeur. We need Mr. Russ to be mended as quickly as possible, before things get even worse.” And with that grim pronouncement, he turned and strode out, Hermione on his heels.

~  
Draco’s long strides ate the distance to Mr. Russ’ office more quickly than Hermione could have imagined. The door was already ajar as they swept in to see the Directrix standing behind his desk, looking as though she were trying to open a cabinet. Hermione wondered for a moment if the Directrix was Narcissa before she remembered Severus’ instruction. “He said the password is Remembrance.”

A tiny click sounded as the lady bent over and pulled out the pensieve, taking it to lay carefully on the desk before them. “He is always so maudlin with his passwords,” she said in a distracted way, her worry mixed with fondness.

Draco snorted. “Maudlin. That’s the word for it, alright,” he muttered. He held out his hand to Hermione for the bottle of memories. “Now, let’s see if together we can get a better understanding of what happened here. Will you join us in the memory, Mother?”

Narcissa gave him a sour look. “Every eye we can add will help, I believe,” she said.

Draco ignored her tone as he poured in the two memory vials and then delicately pulled a third from his own temple. Gently, he twirled the memories together in the bowl, muttering a short incantation as they seemed to wind together, almost fusing inside. After a few moments, he turned and bowed. “After you, Healer.”

Hermione caught Narcissa’s eye and nodded before leaning forward to touch the bowl’s contents. The three of them swirled into existence in the memory. It looked far more solid, more full of small details than Hermione had ever seen in a memory. Draco started the joined memory to run, all of them watching the people involved as the Goyle men rushed into the room. The shouted incantations echoed just as badly as before in Severus’ memory alone. Draco huffed in frustration before rewinding the memory and pausing a moment.

Hermione thought about it for a second before speaking. “What if each of us got closer to one or the other in the memory, out of line of sight of the other? We might be able to hear the individual sounds more clearly.”

Narcissa nodded. “I’ll stay next to Geronimus,” she said. “I have a theory I’d like to test while we listen.”

Draco nodded as they moved into place. “Ready?” he said, then started the memory again.

This time, the words we clearer, especially as Hermione watched Gregory’s mouth while he shouted. He had clearly been the one to speak the Cruciatus curse that was causing problems now, but how was it holding on for so long?

Narcissa stopped her thoughts. “Draco, can you see with mage sight during a memory?”

Draco seemed stymied by the question. “I’m not sure, Mother. My mage sight isn’t very strong, regardless. What should I be looking for?”

“I have a feeling that the two spells linked, but I’m not sure how,” Narcissa said. “I’d like to know if one spell was fed into another.”

“How would they do that? I’ve never heard of such a thing before today,” Hermione said, confused.

Draco looked at her coolly. “It’s a very old Pureblood tradition that sometimes a parent can feed their magic through their child to get stronger spells,” he said. “It was often used to create stronger wards on the home, but it was temporary and usually done when the child was very young. If they figured out how to do it now, like this, there’s not telling how two different magics could morph into something else.”

“Try looking, Draco,” said Narcissa. “I think I saw the signs of it.”

With a sigh, Draco restarted the memory again. This time, Hermione was sure she saw a Crucio on Gregory’s lips, but she was also sure that he looked very unhappy. What could cause him to do something that would make him that reluctant? Was it the danger to his wife and son? What was going on with his father? Was Gregory another victim in this strange situation?

“You were right, Mother,” said Draco. “There is definitely some twinning of their magic together. It even looked like it tried to reach for Gerald.”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed. “We cannot allow that to happen.” She whirled upward out of the memory, jogging them all out of the pensieve and back into the office.

“So, what were the curses?” Draco said. “I still couldn’t get a good read on them.”

“Gregory was casting Crucio, but he looked very reluctant to be doing it,” Hermione said softly.

“And Geronimus was casting Imperius,” said Narcissa. “It was the primary curse of the two, if I was reading it correctly.”

“Yes,” said Draco, “the lines of the force were pulling the Crucio as a servant of the Imperio, if that makes sense. The power of the Imperio would be stronger, but the Crucio would come into play as it was subverted.”

“Mr. Russ is an expert at mind magic,” Hermione said slowly. “He can subvert an Imperius easily. If the Crucio comes into play when the Imperius is subverted…”

Narcissa’s face was pale and grim. “Then he would feel the Crucio every time he moved that was against whatever Geronimus willed. And who knows how extensive his will would be against someone he saw taking his daughter-in-law and grandson away against his will.”


End file.
